His Favorite Toy
by sitabethel
Summary: Marik Ishtar works as a bartender in a gaudy strip club. One night he offers one of the dancers, Bakura, a ride home after an altercation with one of the patrons. Before Marik leaves, Bakura gives Marik a strange proposal that leads to them becoming unlikely, independent business partners. Thiefshipping/AU/M-Rated
1. Chapter 1

*****This is Drunk!Prompt 3/5. I'm going to put a master list of Lemonade prompts on my Tumblr page, btw. A few people have asked for one. It'll show all the last of the prompts that I'll write before I stop posting in the Lemonade Stand. Now that this fic is written, I'm going to try to get back to those prompts*****

* * *

Bakura was a shadow, a silhouette dancing in a haze of cigarette smoke and pale blue stage lights. Sweat garnished his skin, diamonds scattered across white marble. The thigh-high leather boots, shorts, and fingerless gloves that wandered well past his elbows all gleamed in the stage light. Swinging around the pole, he pulled off his cap, allowing a waterfall of white hair to cascade down his body and swing with his momentum on the pole. He tossed the hat into the crowd, winking.

Marik watched from the bar. He poured a line of shots and set them on a round tray, licking stray tequila off of his fingers before working on a tequila sunrise and two screwdrivers. The customers never minded when he licked his fingers clean, neither the ladies nor the gentlemen. That's why they were there. To drink, to stare, to escape the ugly, ugly cityscape around them and spend an evening in a gaudy strip club with pretty, pretty men and women.

Marik didn't mind though. He liked the money, and he liked watching the dancers. Bakura was upside down now, hair almost dragging against the floor, thighs squeezing the pole. Bakura stretched out his arms, two long, white snakes. He swayed them back and forth like a belly dancer. After a moment he sat up, grabbed the pole, and stretched his legs out straight, holding himself with nothing more than his arms on the pole and the strength of his core. He flipped and spun, sinking lower . . . lower along the pole until he lay sprawled on the floor as the music faded.

The DJ ruined it by talking over the faded hum of the last note, but it was still beautiful to watch as Marik winked at customers and handed them beers dripping with cold condensation. The other dancers were good, but Bakura carried with him a sense of mystery. Marik knew, by the way he moved, that Bakura thought of himself as an artist, too good to bother with the world around him. He didn't dance for the crowd; he danced for himself and allowed them the privilege of watching.

Bakura was the last act that night. He walked up to the pole as if he had a mind to strangle it, wrapping his hands around the metal and swinging up to catch himself with his thighs. He dropped, as if by accident, but then caught himself three centimeters up from the ground. He climbed back up the pole, setting his feet on the ground and grinding against the metal.

Marik had to look away, grabbing his tip jar and dumping it onto the counter. The bar was clearing out, and there were few customers left. Marik counted up his money, cashing out the ones and fives for twenties. Bakura was spinning, and then he flung himself from the pole, landing off-stage in a crouch. Marik raised an eyebrow- that stunt was new. Bakura looked up. Their eyes caught for a fragment of a second and he smirked before standing and walking to the back dressing room.

Marik snorted. Bakura was a damn show off and one day he was going to break his arm, and Marik would laugh at him until the ambulance came and carted his dork-ass away. The stage lights went dark and the DJ reminded the last few patrons to tip their servers before they left. Marik wiped up, and headed back to the dressing room himself to get back into normal clothes.

He slipped on ripped jeans and a white, short-sleeved hoodie, comfortable clothes. Motorcycle keys in hand, Marik snuck out the back to avoid co-workers and customers alike. He wanted to get home, take a shower, wash the smoke out of his hair, watch Adventure Time until four in the morning, and then pass out until noon when he'd have to get up and start another day.

The alley outside was almost black. Marik bit into his cheek. He fucking hated the dark. He could push his way through it, but he always felt like it was choking him somehow, and he and several of the other workers told their sleazy pig of a boss to fucking fix it three times already.

Down the alley, Marik heard a struggle. He turned to head towards his bike- one learned to mind their own business in downtown Domino- but a familiar voice froze Marik in place.

"Get off me you drunk bastard!"

There was the sound of someone being slammed into a trashcan, and then of boots hitting pavement. Marik saw Bakura. His black jacket fluttered around him as if he were part of the shadows.

The man pushed himself away from the trash can and chased after Bakura. Bakura spun to face his pursuer, flipping a butterfly knife in his right hand. The glint of steel from a far away street light was enough reason for the drunk to pause in place.

"You want some of me, precious? Then come get a taste."

The drunk shouted something slurred and angry, reaching for Bakura, but swaying where he stood and glaring at the knife.

"Hey!" Marik shouted. "I already called the cops. You better get the fuck out of here!"

"Fuck you!" The drunk staggered back, as if his feet had more sense than his brain.

"Bitch, what did you just say to me?" Marik threw his arms out and stepped forward.

"I said fuck you!" The man shrieked before running off into the deeper shadows of the alley.

"What a fuckface." Marik scowled, watching Bakura hide his knife. "You okay?"

"This bullshit happens every other night. Dumbasses think free samples of me come with the fucking drinks they paid for."

"C'mon," Marik gestured with his head. "I lied about the cops, but my motorcycle is parked right outside this alley."

"Mmmm, tempting as it sounds to be whisked away by a knight on his steed, I'm not exactly the damsel in distress type, so I think I'll walk."

"Are you kidding? If you handle that knife like you handle a pole, then it was the drunk I just saved, not you."

Bakura smirked. "Yes. I am rather apt at handling … poles." He started to walk. "I guess a ride home wouldn't hurt. I live three blocks north of here."

Marik offered the sole helmet to Bakura, but Bakura scowled at it and shook his head. Too tired to argue, Marik wore it himself and started up his baby, gliding her into the street and taking off through the sparse, late night traffic. A few minutes later they were at a large condominium complex, golden lights shining through plate-glass windows and making the night sky seem washed out and petty. Marik approved.

He parked, dismounting the bike after Bakura and removing the helmet from his head. He looked at Bakura, who raised a white eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. Marik smirked, keeping his gaze level with Bakura's rust-colored eyes.

"What? Expecting a thank you? You're the one that wanted to give me a ride. It's not like I'm going to invite you up for a drink."

"No, you wouldn't." Marik took a step closer. "So I'm inviting myself up."

Bakura snorted, pivoted in his black leather boots, and walked towards the building. Marik followed him. They stood facing each other in the elevator, each of them leaning back against an opposite wall with their arms crossed.

"Still not offering you a drink."

"I'll mix my own, then."

"Why the sudden interest?"

Marik shrugged. "Look . . . I just want to make sure you get to your door safe, okay? I don't really need a drink."

"And I don't need a bodyguard."

"No, you really don't. I don't need a Ducati either, I still love riding it."

A grin stretched across Bakura's face. Marik suspected it was unintentional because Bakura looked somehow offended at his own smile. "Are you coming onto me?"

Marik's eyes flicked to Bakura's jacket pocket. "No, you still have the knife, I'd better not."

"See, now I know you're trying to flirt with me."

"Is it working?"

"No." Bakura turned his head.

"Pity."

"I _told_ you already. That shit happens all the time. I'm fine."

"I've told the fucking boss three times to fix the light above the door. It doesn't help that it's pitch black out there."

"Pffft, the dark doesn't bother me," Bakura said.

The elevator stopped at Bakura's floor and he walked out into the hall. Marik watched him a moment, the way the black coat clung to Bakura's frame made Marik believe him. It was like darkness wrapping around him, shielding him. Marik should have hated it, but somehow it drew him onward, following Bakura down the hall.

"It bothers me."

"Yeah?" Bakura glanced behind his shoulder.

Marik nodded.

"Huh," Bakura said, nonplussed. "Guess we all have something. I hate fireworks."

"Really?"

Bakura shrugged, stopping in front of a door and letting them both inside- making sure to hit one of the lights before Marik walked through the threshold. "They terrify me."

"Is it the noise?"

"The sparks."

Marik nodded. He looked around Bakura's house. "You're . . . a huge fucking nerd."

"Am I?" Bakura smirked, disappearing to the back of the apartment.

Marik made himself at home on the sofa. He looked around, posters of Megaman, Chrono Trigger, and the Legend of Zelda hung on the walls in glass frames. It was a surreal blend of college dropout meets sophisticated adult. The action figures on pedestals or in cases gave the same effect. Marik's eyes sank to the coffee table in front of him. There, surrounding a salt-rock lamp, sat three glass dongs and half a dozen glass butt plugs. They were oddly beautiful, swirls of colors spiraled within the clear glass.

"Like them?" Bakura asked from behind Marik.

"I've heard of displaying a conversation piece, but this is unique."

"I would never use them." Bakura circled around Marik, dressed in a black sweatpants and a black tank top. He sat in a chair perpendicular to Marik. "I'm a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to what gets shoved up my ass and glass doesn't make the cut."

Marik winced at the bad pun. "Yeah, I'm sure you're all class in the bedroom."

Bakura leaned forward, looking smug. "I make all of my own toys."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're also a real genius when it comes to creative uses of tube socks, baby oil, and ziplock bags."

Bakura twisted his face in disgust. "No, and I'd rather not know your browser history. I mean I actually have silicone molds so I can make my own. It's . . ." Bakura shrugged, relaxing back into his chair. "A hobby of mine."

"Nice ice-breaking conversation." Marik chuckled.

"Bad Dragon is having a contest."

"Who?"

"Bad Dragon, y'know, Bad Dragon."

Marik shook his head.

"Oh my god, you're worse than a virgin!" Bakura rolled his eyes, grabbing a laptop from an end table and bringing up a web page.

He handed the computer to Marik, who scowled. "You're into this?"

Bakura waived Marik off with his hand. "I'm twenty-seven. I've seen some hot forty-year-old exotic dancers, but personally, I'm ready to find a retirement plan. Besides, I'm very passionate about making men cum, why not make it my day job?"

Marik gestured with his hand. "Why not? Have fun."

"I need someone to pre-test the damn thing. I have one for myself, but I need another opinion if it's any good or not." He shrugged, giving Marik a playful grin. "I mean, I am a slut and a narcissist, I can't really trust my opinion."

Marik blinked, shocked that they were having this conversation and shocked that it fell so casually from Bakura's lips. "You're saying you want me to just go to your room right now and let you fuck me with some sea monster penis you made out of god-knows-what materials? Are you crazy?"

Bakura tossed his head back and laughed. "Okay, one I use quality materials- two, you can still use a condom over it if you have doubts- three, it's a dark dragon god not a sea monster, those are different molds- four, I was going to give you one so you could take it home in private." He gave Marik a sultry glance. "Personal demonstrations cost extra."

Marik crossed his legs, trying to glare at Bakura, but there was no real hatred in the look. "Why would I even fuck myself with your stupid dragon toy?"

"Hey, you're the one that followed me up here like a puppy because of some knight complex, I'm just trying to turn your foolishness to my advantage."

Marik snorted, but then he smirked as an idea came to him. "Fine. I'll play with your little toy, but you have to let me give you a ride home every night this week."

Bakura made another face. "Why do you care?"

Marik started laughing. "Well, you see Bakura, I've been watching you from afar all these years, and I've secretly fallen in love with you."

Bakura laughed with Marik. "Cute. Really cute. What's the real reason?"

Marik shrugged. "We really have worked together for several years. We're not exactly buddies, but I don't like the thought of you having to fight your way home. Besides, I live two blocks past you so it's not like I'm going out of my way."

"I'm not wearing a helmet."

"What if it's a helmet with a +3 defense bonus?"

Bakura's mouth dropped, as if the reference made him considered the option of wearing a helmet. Then he snapped. "What the fuck, you called me a nerd, but then you make that lame ass joke?"

Marik shrugged. "I was in highschool once."

"Yeah, I'm sure you had perfect attendance, too."

"You don't look like you were on the honor role, either."

"How do you know I'm not paying my way through college right now?" Bakua winked.

Marik rolled his eyes. "Just give me the creepy sex toy already so I can go home and watch Adventure Time."

Bakura stood up, looking more earnest than Marik had ever seen him. "Damn, I forgot there was a new episode tonight. Why am I sitting here and wasting my time with you?" He ran to the back of his condo and returned with a white box. He shoved the box into Marik's hands. "Here."

Marik stood up, staring at the box in his hands. "Thanks . . . I guess. You know, crown and coke would have worked a little better."

Bakura shook his head. "Told you I wasn't going to offer you a drink."

"Yeah, why offer drinks when there's dildos?"

"You volunteered when you insisted on following me up to my place."

Marik couldn't help but smile. "You're right, this really is my fault."

Bakura escorted him to the door, holding it open as Marik stepped into the hallway and giving him a finger gun. "I expect a full report."

"I'm too tired tonight. You'll have to wait until my night off."

"Your loss." Bakura closed the door, leaving Marik alone in the hallway.

* * *

The next night was business as usual. For some reason it was a margarita night. Every other order was a margarita, and Marik wondered what the hell had been on television the night before to cause it. Whatever it had been, Marik was sure everyone was disappointed when the reality didn't live up to their expectations.

A woman pushed her way up to the bar. Her bleached hair stuck out in every direction, fried from being over processed too many times. Her lipstick was also smudged and her eyelashes looked like hairy spider legs from too many coats of cheap mascara.

She pointed at the rim of her half-drank margarita. "This is salt."

Marik glanced at the glass while mixing two gin and tonics. Yeah, it sure the fuck was salt, and Marik couldn't see what the problem was. "Okay?"

She frowned, raising her voice as if she thought the problem was with Marik's hearing. "It's supposed to be sugar!"

At that moment Marik was grateful that his older brother, Rishid, had raised Marik under a strict _never hit a lady_ policy, because Marik wanted to clock the bitch right then and there. "No, sweetie, margaritas get salt. Order a daiquiri next time if you want sugar on the glass."

Marik could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't used to being told she was wrong, but it took more than bleached hair and a spray tan to make Marik Ishtar kiss ass. He didn't put up with the flirty, spoiled princess act from the queens, so he sure as hell wasn't going to tolerate it from the bimbo standing in front of him.

"I don't want a daiquiri. The place _I_ go to always puts sugar on the glass for the margaritas. You're doing it wrong- fix it."

Marik opened his mouth to explain his policy of never _fixing_ drinks that were more than halfway consumed, but the DJ announced Bakura's name, and suddenly Marik didn't care anymore. He grabbed a clean glass, wet the rim and covered it in a disgusting amount of sugar, and dumped the remainder of the margarita into the new glass. He even topped it with whipped cream and a few maraschino cherries before sliding it back across the counter. It made the drink look repulsive, in Marik's opinion, but the girl's liquor-glazed eyes lit up. She snatched the drink with greedy hands and stiffed Marik on the tip _yet again_.

But Marik couldn't linger on his outrage because Bakura was wearing red leather boots that rose straight up into the heaven of Bakura's white thighs and _god damn_. The red thong disappeared into the crack of Bakura's ass, leaving his cheeks bare for Marik's feasting eyes. He'd always admired Bakura's body, and the way Bakura could control every single movement. That's what drew Marik's eyes to Bakura night after night, that specific, meticulous control. Something about it made Marik want to seize it away from Bakura, to watch him unravel until he was nothing but a mass of shaking limbs and fingernails digging into sheets.

Despite his desire, Marik was aware that he hadn't exactly played it smooth the night before at Bakura's place. He could flirt with the customers easy enough, winks and haphazard brushes of fingers and his pink tongue always darting out to lick his lips at the most opportune time. He raked in a mountain of tips each night because of his ability to manipulate people and fool them into thinking he was exactly what they wanted him to be. Daily life flirting was a struggle, however. Marik didn't like people enough to bother. They seemed ordinary and plain and boring to him; he was Narcissus and they were Echo.

Bakura was different. He didn't care. He didn't care that Marik was beautiful, arguably more beautiful than Bakura. People often wondered why Marik didn't take his turn on the stage, but Marik refused to show his body to anyone. Several long stripes scarred his back from when he was ten and his overly religious father tried to whip the gay out of Marik and the Jesus into him. In the end it turned out for the best, a teacher called CPS and Rishid ended up with custody over Marik two weeks later, but Marik still refused to take off his shirt no matter how golden and toned his chest was. The sleeveless, lavender vest and black bow tie the bartenders wore was as nude as Marik would allow.

Bakura didn't have Marik's issues with self-image. He wore a long-sleeved, cropped shirt of red mesh that showed more than it covered. His nipples perked up from the fabric. His stomach flowed white and smooth as milk below the mesh. He grabbed the pole with both hands, closing his eyes and licking up as if the filthy thing was a hard, sweaty shaft that he was about to blow. He ground against the pole, the friction making him bulge a little through his scant thong.

A shudder ran through Marik as he watched. He doubled his efforts on mixing Tom Collins, whiskey sours, and more margaritas. It wasn't going to work. As much as Marik wanted to seduce Bakura, to steal Bakura's self-control away like a vampire stole blood from his victim's veins, when it came down to it- Marik wouldn't do it. Sordid fantasies were nice, but when it came to _actually touching_ another human being with anything more than platonic intentions, Marik felt like something was missing in him, some chemical signal that allowed people to be physically close together without feeling alien in their own bodies.

After work, Marik stepped out into the dark alley. He'd complained, _once again,_ about the broken security light, but as soon as the door shut behind Marik, the alley choked him in darkness.

"So I'm getting a ride, yeah?"

Bakura's voice made Marik jump. "Asshole, I didn't see you. Don't freak me out like that."

"Kiss my ass, Marik. I'd already be halfway home if I hadn't been waiting on your ass to get done."

"Let's just go. It was an annoying night."

Bakura chuckled, a shadow walking beside Marik in the dark alley. "You don't have to tell me how annoying tonight was. After you liquor them up, I'm the one that has to deal with their sloppy, grabby hands."

"At least no one's attacking you in the alley tonight."

"Yes, even in trashy, putrid Domino the clouds have silver linings."

"Anyone ever tell you that you have a special talent for dry irony?"

"No because the morons usually think I'm being sincere."

Marik smiled because he was familiar with that same problem. He handed Bakura the extra helmet he'd brought with him. Bakura frowned. "Are you really going to make me wear this?"

Marik had expected Bakura to put up more of a fight, so when he only scowled at the helmet, Marik answered. "Yes. I could draw a +3 on the side if you wanted me to."

"Fuck you," Bakura growled as he slipped the helmet on.

Marik grinned. It'd been a little too easy to get his way on that one. He drove Bakura home, staying on his bike as Bakura dismounted.

Bakura handed Marik the extra helmet. "Aren't you coming up?"

Marik shrugged, sticking his visor up so he could talk. "Well, I haven't had a chance to play with your little friend yet, so I don't really have anything to report."

Bakura shrugged. "You're here. Might as well come up and not have a drink."

Marik couldn't resist cracking a smile at Bakura's dumb joke. He turned off the engine and followed Bakura upstairs. Marik sat down, his stomach a twist of burning, quivering knots from his nerves. Marik wanted Bakura, but at the same time, Marik didn't want to be touched by _anyone_ , especially if it meant taking his shirt off, so instead of spreading his legs out as he sat on the couch in order to invite Bakura's eye towards his crotch, Marik crossed his legs.

Bakura toyed with the remote for a moment and disappeared without a word. Marik turned his head to watch Bakura go, so it wasn't until the familiar theme song started playing that Marik realized that Bakura had put on Adventure Time reruns on the television to watch. Marik settled into the couch. They were reruns, but Marik all but forgot Bakura even existed as he zoned out of the world and into the show.

When Bakura did return, he was in a large, frumpy t-shirt and a pair of Adventure Time boxer shorts. He had a bag of microwavable popcorn in his hand, and as he sat down, he offered the open end to Marik so he could grab a handful.

Marik didn't see why he shouldn't, so they sat there, passing back and forth cheap popcorn and watching cartoons. Their conversation was sparse, mostly commentary on the show, and bag was empty and forgotten before either realized it. They actually managed to marathon the entire first season before either of them realized the sunrise slipping through the glass of the arcadia door separating the living room from the balcony.

"Damn, I need to go home." Marik stood up, eyes fixed on the gold and orange sky.

"Sorry." Bakura smirked; he didn't look sorry at all.

"I'm off tonight. I'll let you know how . . . well, you know," Marik stuttered. He wasn't sure why he felt so bashful.

"Y-yeah." Bakura kept his eyes locked on the TV and away from Marik. "I'm off too, so just call." He shrugged. "Or come over. I don't care. And if you don't like it, I guess just chuck it into the trash or something."

Marik laughed. "What? You don't want to recycle it?"

Bakura wrinkled his face in disgust.

Marik laughed again. "Relax, that was a joke."

"I'm not an idiot. It was obviously a joke!"

Marik grinned. "Are you sure you're not an idiot? I have to wonder."

Bakura scowled and pointed to the door. "Get the fuck out of my house, Marik."

And with that fond farewell, Marik went home, showered the club off of his body and out of his hair, and then dropped face-first into his bed, sleeping better than he had in weeks.

* * *

Marik awoke late that afternoon. He stretched, arching his back against the mattress and scratching his scalp. He couldn't remember his dreams in detail, but he felt stuffy and aroused and his cock was hard and brushing against the duvet. Marik ignored it. He often woke up with a stiffy and the dream probably had nothing to do with it. He got up, ate breakfast, watched the weather, checked his emails, and waited for his erection to go down so he could decide what to do with his day.

But his cock stayed at least partially hard all morning, twitching against Marik's silk boxers in protest from time to time. Marik had a pretty good sex drive. He usually fooled around with himself in the shower, but he'd been too tired the night before and he figured that was why he was more randy than normal.

He thought of the box sitting beneath his bed. His cheeks heated up and his cock twitched again at the thought of using the toy, but Marik felt hesitant. Was he really going to use something Bakura made in his kitchen during his spare time? It seemed a little absurd. Still, Bakura used his own toys and he didn't look like he was dying of lead poisoning . . . he looked really good, when Marik thought of it. He felt his nipples stiffen as thoughts of Bakura and sex toys and masturbation all swirled together in Marik's brain.

He sighed, conceding. He _had_ promised Bakura he'd give the thing a try, and he _was_ in the mood to try something different, and it felt a little naughty (and alluring) to use something that Bakura had crafted himself, so Marik went to his bedroom. He pulled the box out from under the bed, lifting up the lid and staring at the dildo resting in the box beside a name card.

 _There's no way._

The thought flashed through Marik's mind the moment he saw how _fat_ the dong was. It was opaque black, scaly ribbing trailed down the shaft and a odd protrusion stuck out from the base. It was as if the dildo has its own long, slender penis; Marik figured the extension massaged the perineum when the toy was inserted.

Did Bakura really expect Marik to shove that thing up his ass? Was Bakura a masochist? Marik picked the toy up, feeling the scales that gave the silicone texture. He noticed a suction cup fastened to the base and an idea came to him.

Marik set _Zorc the Destroyer_ on the bed and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed a wooden chair from the kitchen table and carried it back to his room. He set it next to the bed. Licking the suction cup, Marik slammed the toy onto the wooden seat to make it stick.

He started at it, tall, and fat, and black, and sinister as any abyss. Marik bit his finger; despite the nervous flutter in his belly, he was harder than before and looking forward to trying it.

He took out a condom and a bottle of water-based lube. Marik snorted as he rolled the condom over the toy, thinking that it was a good thing he already had Magnum XL's, otherwise he'd have trouble getting the condom to fit. Finished, Marik used the lube to prep himself.

When Marik felt confident in his preparations, he stood up and straddled the kitchen chair. The position alone was enough to build up Marik's excitement. He'd never really put that much effort into jerking off before, so breaking away from his daily routine made Marik eager.

He lined up, feeling the tip press against his entrance. Marik eased his body weight down until his flesh gave way and the toy slipped into his body. Marik moaned, tilting his head back, closing his eyes, allowing his lips to part, and adjusting to the sudden sensation of being filled. He sank lower … and lower until he could feel the extension tickle just below his balls. Marik took a few deep breaths, wincing as he pulled up halfway and then dropped down again. His cheeks burned and Marik couldn't help but breathe through his parted lips in shallow huffs. His hair tickled his shoulders and he brushed all of it to one side so it wouldn't distract him. After a few more tentative ups and downs, Marik started moving in a steady rhythm. He sighed and bit his bottom lip. He was surprised about how quickly he'd adjusted to the toy's girth, but despite the fancy ribbing and extension, the toy was smoothly textured and the lube helped it slide in and out of Marik's asshole with relative ease.

A jolt shot through his stomach as he picked up his pace. Marik grabbed the back of the chair, trying to resist the urge to stroke himself and end it all too soon, but his cock was hard and throbbing and each time the head brushed against the chair's back, Marik grunted and wanted to clench his fist around himself. He grabbed his shaft, almost as thick and fat as the toy's, and started to squeeze and knead himself. Between his warm, slick hand gliding up and down his shaft and the toy filling him to the brink, it only took two minutes for Marik to choke out a low moan as he came over his hand and the back of the chair.

He dropped to the seat, thighs trembling from the effort of moving his bodyweight up and down. Marik panted, waiting for his breath to even out. He realized that he did _not_ want to stop. The toy was still inside him, huge and filling, and he'd been too aroused that morning for it to already be over. Marik slung his left arm along the chair back, leaning his forehead against his forearm. He continued stroking himself, slow and lazy. He felt soft and malleable in his hand, so Marik kept his massaging light. He reached his thumb up to the tip, smearing come over the head- it was already getting cold, but it was slick.

Marik didn't rush, taking a good amount of time to toy with himself until he was firm and long again. Marik kept his arms resting against the chair back, tired from his first round. Instead of bouncing up and down, he rocked back and forth. By accident, he discovered that when he did so, the slender extension at the base of the toy put just the right kind of pressure on his perineum. He rocked a little more, throwing his head and shoulders back to shift his weight and force the tip of the toy to press closer to his prostate.

Marik wasn't huffing anymore, he was flat-out moaning with each breath, the sounds both embarrassing and arousing. A strange thought crept into Marik's mind while he rode the toy. Bakura had held it at some point, running smooth, long, white fingers across the the silicone to check the toy for flaws or imperfections. Marik was sure he'd washed the toy before passing it on, and Marik himself had added a condom, but the _thought_ of Bakura touching the very thing inside Marik at that exact moment, making him moan and hitch and fuck himself into a frenzy, was strange, and nerve-wracking, and exciting, and inappropriate, and _hot_ , and the more Marik tried to avoid the thought, the more his brain insisted he think about it. Before Marik realized what he was doing, he was stroking himself again- faster than before, harsher than before, more desperate than he'd ever grabbed himself before, until he was screaming with a strong, sudden orgasm.

Marik gasped, his lavender eyes wide, his mouth opened wider.

But Marik still wasn't done.

He pushed himself to his feet, using the back of the chair to keep himself steady. Marik grabbed a small towel to clean up his mess, tossed out the used condom and wrapper, and washed the toy in his bathroom sink. Then he lay on his bed, toy beside him. With small, gentle touches, Marik ran his fingers up and down his spent shaft.

His touches were so mild and so slow that he actually dozed with his cock still in hand, exhausted from his first two orgasms, but as soon as Marik's mind drifted back to the surface, refreshed from the brief rest, he started pulling at his shaft with renewed interest. He grabbed the lube, adding a touch to his skin. When he was hard, he poured more lube onto his asshole, giving himself several good, hard thrusts with his fingers to make sure he was slick.

He grabbed _Zorc the Destroyer,_ coating it until it gleamed, and inserted it back inside his asshole. It slipped straight in, hitting Marik's prostate and making him curse in pleasure. He mouthed the word _fuck_ over and over as he began to work the toy in and out. His cheek was pressed against his pillow, and his eyes were screwed shut. He was lost in his own mind and his own thoughts.

" _Ooooh fuck_ ," he moaned, digging his heels into the mattress and pressing his hips up into order to thrust with the toy.

His right hand fumbled for his cock, dragging the pads of his fingers up and down his golden shaft, and dropping lower to fondle his balls, all the while angling the toy as close to his prostate as he could get.

" _Oh fuck . . . fuck . . . you bastard, you fucking bastard._ "

It took him a moment to realize he was cursing Bakura. And so what if he was thinking of his coworker while fucking himself? It was Bakura's fault. Bakura was the one that all but shoved the toy in Marik's hands and told him to try it out.

He grit his teeth to keep from screaming as he came _for a third time_. Well, there wasn't much semen at this point, but the orgasm had been as rich and decadent as any he'd ever had. Marik pulled out the toy and dropped it, gasping for air. He knew he needed to get up and shower again, but he felt his lids drop over his eyes as he fell not into a light doze like before, but a hard and proper sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Bakura paced in his living room, aggravated at his own behavior. He was sure Marik had better things to do with his day than fuck himself with a stupid toy, but Bakura really did want the feedback. Bakura liked to dance because it was raw, physical expression, and it required talent. At least to do it at his level it required talent, although he'd seen some bimbos that made a mockery of what he did with their lazy, unimaginative routines. Nevertheless, there was something about designing toys that appealed to him on a deeper level. It was still artistic, it was still skillful, but it was about being the talent behind the scenes. There was a sort of control in that, in being the puppet master to desire instead of being the doll dancing on the stage.

So of course he _wanted_ Marik to enjoy the toy, but it felt like Bakura was being _too_ impatient for Marik's review. It wasn't like him, to care about anything enough to pace.

A knock at the door made Bakura jump. He raced to open it, but then decided to wait a moment so he didn't seem too eager. After a second knock, Bakura muttered something vague in an attempt to seem impatient and opened the door. He'd been expecting Marik, and it was Marik, but Bakura startled when he saw Marik.

"Uh, damn . . . you look good," Bakura muttered without thinking about what he was saying.

Marik actually looked like half a mess. His hair was tossed into a sloppy ponytail, and he wasn't wearing the thick, black kohl that he usually wore to work, but there was something about his complexion though, a sort of glow, that took Bakura's breath away when he looked at him.

"Are you being facetious?" Marik asked.

Bakura saved himself by smirking and giving Marik a shrug to imply that he had been teasing. Marik rolled his eyes in return and shoved Bakura back a step so he could let himself inside. Something about Marik's hand on Bakura's chest made Bakura's heart miss a beat, but he figured it was because he was anxious to hear what Marik thought of Bakura's toy design.

"So, are you just here to watch more Adventure Time?"

Marik glanced over his shoulder. "You know damn well why I'm here."

Bakura shut the door. "And?"

It was Marik's turn to smirk. He stalked towards Bakura, unadorned lavender eyes locked on Bakura with a hungry stare. Bakura was used to men staring at him, and he was used to punching them in the face if they stared too long (except at work), but something about the look on Marik's face made Bakura stumble back until he felt the door pressed against his body. Then he had nowhere to go and Marik was a breath away from his face.

Marik leaned close, parted his smirking lips, and whispered, "Three."

"Three what?"

"Orgasms."

Bakura choked on his own spit, doubling over to cough. "In a row?" He asked when he could breathe again.

"Well, I mean I had to wait to get hard again each time, but I only used it the one time."

"So . . . you liked it?"

"What do _you_ think?"

Bakura huffed. His frustration at Marik override his joy at the thought that he might have a chance in the contest after all. He straightened and leaned towards Marik in return. "How would I know? Maybe you're a freak that jerks off all the time?"

Marik's mouth dropped in outrage. His eye twitched. "No I don't jerk off all the time!"

Bakura smirked. "So it was that good, huh?"

Marik growled, but Bakura kept the grin on his face. He walked to the kitchen. "Okay. Now I'll offer you a drink."

"It's only seven in the evening."

Bakura shrugged. "I'm in a good mood. Let's celebrate now."

Marik snorted and followed Bakura into the kitchen. "Yeah, it's so rare that you're ever in a good mood I suppose that _is_ cause for celebration."

Bakura narrowed his eyes at Marik, but that didn't stop him from grabbing a bottle of champagne from the fridge and tearing away at the gold foil.

"Do you always keep champagne in your fridge?" Marik raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you?" Bakura asked. "Sometimes opportunities arise. I like to be prepared for such moments."

"With champagne and sex toys?" Marik took the champagne flute from Bakura's hand and took a sip.

"Yes, what sort of entertainment do you offer guests?" Bakura asked.

Marik shook his head. "I don't ever have guests over."

"But your personality is so charming, why ever wouldn't you have guests?" Bakura chuckled, smacking Marik's shoulder with a playful gesture. "Come on. The living room is more comfortable."

They sat on opposite sides of Bakura's sofa, setting their glasses down on the table once drained. Bakura started to fidget, staring at his empty glass instead of Marik.

"So . . ." Marik said, more to fill the dead air than to express any particular thought.

"So . . ." Bakura agreed. "So, what did you like? Was there anything I should change?"

"I-I mean, it was a little big. I got used to the size, but I couldn't maneuver it as much as I wanted. I liked the suction cup, and that weird bit at the bottom that presses against the skin."

"Yeah, maybe I'll angle the head of the next one." Bakura stroked his chin in thought, wondering if maybe he should come up with two or three ideas before deciding on what to submit. There was plenty of time before the contest deadline. "Was there too much ribbing? Or was that good?"

"Good? I mean, it's not like I have much to compare with. I've used a plain dong a few times, but I'm not really a toy expert."

"Do you want a different one for comparison?"

Marik looked up, the movement drew Bakura's eye to him. They stared at each other for a solid minute, and Bakura wasn't sure why the moment felt so long, or so quiet, or so charged with something undefinable.

"Can I make my own?"

"Huh?"

"I kinda want to make my own. You know, design it, and . . . and cast it, or whatever you do to them."

Bakura blinked a moment, thinking about the idea. He didn't work well with others, but it'd be nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of, and to try the toys.

Marik kept speaking. "We could be partners, you know. Work together on something. Even if you don't win the contest, maybe we could find another way to get into the business."

"Hah, got you hooked, did I?"

Marik shrugged. "It just seems interesting. Like you said, we won't be in our twenties forever. At this point I'd have to look into starting my own scuzzy night club or work with you."

"I'm so glad I'm your backup plan."

Marik scooted closer. "What? Don't like the idea of working with me? This is your fault, you know. You wanted feedback for your toy." He shrugged. "It's good . . . really good. Good enough to make me interested in the process."

"Okay, fine. We can be partners, but we'll only submit something together if you pull your own weight, otherwise I'm submitting Zorc on my own and you can go fuck yourself."

Marik laughed. For once Bakura hadn't intended the pun, but he didn't let that stop him from playing it off like it'd been intentional.

"Well?" Marik asked. "What's the first step?"

"Design something," Bakura answered, standing up. "Here, let me show you my workstation so you can get an idea of what we'll be doing."

* * *

Marik sang the Adventure Time theme song. It played on the TV in front of him. He and Bakura were working on their first concept. Marik wanted something simple, something to teach him the process of toy making. _Then_ they'd try to make something unique for the contest.

Bakura came into the living room with two plates in his hand. "Because you're a freak that doesn't eat meat, I only have peanut butter and jelly. If you don't like it, feel free to eat some of my roast beef."

Marik wrinkled his nose at the thought of roast beef. "PBJ is fine."

Bakura sat the plates down on the coffee table. They both wore casual clothes. It was their day off again and they didn't want to put any effort into their looks. Marik didn't care around Bakura anyway.

"So how's your design coming along?" He asked, sitting close to Marik so he could peer at the sketchbook.

Their arms brushed together and Marik shuddered. He'd become a regular user of Zorc during the past week. Watching Bakura dance all night and talking with Bakura about sex toys all day seemed to have a healthy effect on Marik's sex drive.

"Well, it doesn't look like much, but this is just a practice run." He tilted the notebook for Bakura to see.

"Yeah, that's pretty basic, but I like your handle. That should make it easy to hold while thrusting."

Marik chuckled. "What should I call it? My Golden Scepter?"

Bakura grinned. "Call it your rod."

"You have the lamest humor ever, Bakura. At least scepter isn't as cliche as rod."

"Have you seen the names of half the garbage sold at a sex shop? Go with rod." He pursed his lips, staring at Marik's straight, slender, paper-sketched dildo. "I think I know how to spice this up."

"Yeah? How?"

"A cockring." Bakura stole the pencil and paper, sketching beside Marik's dong. "See, a main ring for the balls, and this center piece for the cock."

"What are those dangling bits at the bottom?"

"To tickle the balls."

"What is with you and balls?"

"What? I can have my preferences." Bakura snorted. "Fine, how about only five tines at the end of the ring?"

"Well, it's less excessive. Can we make them gold?"

"We can make them yellow."

"You're so lazy."

Bakura scowled. "Fine, we'll make it gold."

Marik grinned. "Hey, a king needs his golden scepter."

"Whatever, your highness." Bakura shoved Marik away a bit.

Marik smacked Bakura's hand away, but they were both laughing. "Hurry up and eat so we can start."

* * *

Bakura wore his favorite costume. Clear bands covered in faux diamonds that strapped around chest, thighs, and arms. He paired it with white, fur-trimmed boots, and body glitter. He completed the look with a clear, acrylic chastity belt he'd customized with more rhinestones- he used body glide to keep it from chaffing as he danced.

In the dressing room, Bakura wrapped himself in a full length white fur coat. It was too fucking hot for fur, especially as soon as the stage lights hit him, but he wouldn't have it on for longer than two minutes. He walked on to the stage, using it like a fashion show runway and turning as if to scorn the audience. More and more he wanted to set them and the club on fire. They were starting to bore him and he thought the white fur would look good bespeckled in crimson.

He threw the coat towards the back of the stage, practicing a few warm up swings around the pole. He eyes caught Marik at the bar.

Marik was not boring.

In a world that looked grey and already dead to Bakura, Marik seemed to glimmer like the gold earrings that dangled from his ears.

And Bakura hated it, hated it because he didn't want it. He didn't want to care about anything, not the audience, not the slaughtered rabbits that died to make his coat, he didn't want to care.

He flipped upside down on the pole, stretching out a leg. Then he swung and twirled and wrapped his calves around the pole like a dancer performing ganchos during a tango. He did a drop split. Hair scattering across his shoulders. Looking up, he noticed Marik again, and that Marik watched him, and then something feral seemed to possess Bakura.

And he forgot about everyone. It was easy to do, with the stage lights glaring down on Bakura like the disapproving stares of gods, and suddenly he was dancing for Marik. He stood on the stage, bending forward and grabbing the pole with his left hand. With his right hand he traced up the back of his thigh and over his round ass. He made sure he faced away from the bar so that the bar-side of the room had the best view of his ass. Then he hoisted himself back up, twirling with slow, controlled movement. He writhed, and took extra care in each body roll and each flip. He combed his fingers through his hair, and toyed with the straps, and slid his fingers down his writhing stomach. At the end of each stunt he'd stare at Marik and noticed that Marik stared back, his mouth ajar. When Marik knocked over a shaker onto the top of the bar, Bakura knew he'd done his job. All the while Heather Dale blared on the speakers.

 _Damn 'em all- I create my own perfection._

 _Damn 'em all in the face of their rejection._

 _Damn 'em all - well this dog will have its day._

 _My garden's full of pretty men who couldn't stay away._

Fuck Kidd Rock, and fuck Warrent, and fuck Metallica, Bakura chose his own tracks.

By the end of the night, Bakura, back in his fur coat, found Marik waiting for him in the alley. By the looks of it, a few of his normal lurkers were also waiting in the alley, but after taking a look at Marik, they decided to back off, which saved Bakura the trouble of kicking their asses himself.

The coat kept him warm as the bike sped through the streets, but as soon as they were back in his condo, Bakura tossed the fur on the sofa. Usually he changed right away, but that night he wanted to wait a moment, standing more naked than clothed and watching the way Marik's eyes drifted and then jerked away from his body.

"They're ready, right?"

"Yup."

"Well?"

Bakura grinned. "What? You don't want to hang out a bit first?"

Marik fidgeted, and Bakura couldn't help but do a quick crotch-check to see if Marik was pitching a tent. He was, and Bakura licked his lips.

"Actually, I'm kinda tired, and I want a shower."

"Then I'll go get them." Bakura turned away without further argument, which he knew would seem suspicious to Marik. Bakura smirked when he returned with the box that had Marik's rod and ring inside. "Hey, Marik?"

Marik narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Let's both try them out tonight. I don't want to wait three days until we're off."

Marik shifted his eyes towards the TV and away from Bakura. "No one's telling you to wait."

"Yeah, but if I try it out tonight and you don't, I'll have no one to compare notes with." He pressed the box into Marik's hands, using it as an excuse to lean closer. "So go home and try it right away, and I will too, and then I'll call you afterward, and we'll talk."

He felt the heat radiating off of Marik's skin. Marik's eyes were wide and bright, bright lilac. "Uh, talk . . . about the toys?"

"Of course. What else would we talk about?" Bakura grinned.

"I never can tell with _you_." Marik snorted, but it sounded more nervous and flirty than insulting.

But Bakura knew how to force Marik's hand. "I mean, you're not bashful, are you? It's just a little masturbastion. No big deal, right?"

Marik stepped away, Bakura actually _could_ discern the slightest bit of color on Marik's cheeks. "You're obviously going to whine and harass me about this if I don't give you your way, so I guess I'm going home and trying this out, but don't expect a long phone call afterward. I'm tired."

Bakura forced himself not to lick his lips again. "Alright. Let's make this quick, then."

* * *

Marik took a quick shower first. It was dumb because he'd need another one afterward, but he couldn't stand the smell of other people's cigarette smoke in his hair. When done, Marik tossed the lid off of the box, and grabbed both the dong and cockring. He'd been eager to use it from the start. He just hadn't wanted _Bakura_ to know that, but then Bakura had _coerced_ Marik into it. Marik grinned at how easy Bakura was to steer into the right direction.

Marik lay on his back and toyed with himself until he was stiff enough to situate the cockring over both balls and shaft. Laying on his back as he was, he couldn't really feel the tines against his balls, so Marik flipped over on hands and knees. He didn't want to admit it to Bakura, but it was actually a nice sensation, like fingertips touching him.

Marik grabbed his lube. With middle and ring finger, Marik probed his asshole. His flesh felt hot against his fingers. Marik sighed as he started to pump his fingers in and out of his own asshole. Resting his head on the pillow to keep balanced, Marik'is other hand slipped between his legs, thumb tracing the vein bulging from the underside of Marik's shaft.

The image of Bakura's dance rose up from Marik's memories. The way Bakura's fingers had glided around the curvature of his own ass. Marik could imagine how smooth Bakura's skin would feel beneath his own fingers. Bent over like that, Marik could pull Bakura's asschecks apart and stare at his bright pink asshole, slipping two lubed fingers inside and feeling if Bakura was as hot as Marik inside.

Marik groaned, rubbing his cock with his free hand as hard and fast as he could. He pulled his fingers away from both his cock and his asshole and did a quick and sloppy job of dousing the rod with lube so he could insert it into himself.

" _Ahhhh fuck_!" Marik hissed into his own pillow.

Unlike Zorc, the Rod was slim and slipped straight up Marik's ass. He didn't need to adjust. He angled the toy so that it bumped his prostate and screamed when he felt the shock of pleasure jolt through him. It felt almost like when he hit his funny bone, but instead of a jarring tickle, it was a hot, almost unbearable wave of bright, nerve-twisting euphoria.

Marik bit his pillow to keep from screaming. His right hand was tugging at his cock while the left one kept slamming the toy up his own ass. Sweat tickled Marik's temples and behind his knees. He curled in on himself a bit. Cockring or no, he wasn't going to last much longer. He thighs trembled and his asshole clenched more tightly around the toy's shaft, and Marik wondered what Bakura's entrance would taste like against his tongue. The quick, sordid vision broke the last of Marik's endurance. He gave himself a few last, hard strokes and came onto the towel he'd laid down on the bed after his shower.

Marik rolled over on his back, pulling the cockring off, but pushing the Rod into his ass again. He massaged his cock. He was getting good at getting hard again without too much wait between sessions. He couldn't always do three, but he could usually manage two orgasms before he fell asleep.

That was when the first text came. Since Marik was in between rounds, he decided to check who it was. He wiped his hands against his sheets, and then grabbed his phone. It was Bakura.

 _Call or text when you're done. I want to go to sleep._

Marik snorted. Bakura had better drink a cup of coffee, because Marik wasn't about to stop early just so Bakura could catch up on beauty sleep.

* * *

Bakura had his feet up on the headboard in order to keep his legs raised up in the air. The rod was a nice little toy, but it was slimmer than what Bakura was used to, so he needed to hike up his legs in order to get a good angle.

As Bakura lifted his hips and plunged the toy in and out of his asshole, he wondered if Marik had started yet. Bakura closed his eyes, picturing Marik in different positions - on his back with their new toy in his ass and his legs splayed wide, or perhaps with the suction cup sticking Zorc to the headboard so he could back into it. Was he a screamer? Did he curse under his breath or just moan at the last moment? The longer Bakura fucked himself, the more his self-pleasure induced daydreams evolved. Bakura imagined Marik crawling onto his bed, slipping on top of Bakura, their body heat melding together as Marik lowered himself down until their skin brushed together. More than anything, more than positions or swear words or the color of Marik's sheets, Bakura wondered what it'd feel like to have Marik's lips brush against his own.

Bakura bit the inside of his cheek and screwed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the fantasy. Envisioning Marik fucking himself was fine, but _kissing_ . . . Bakura was losing his goddamn mind. And the worst of it was the way Bakura's cock twitched in his hand each time he thought about Marik's breath washing over his mouth seconds before their tongues met.

Bakura groaned, squeezing his legs together, barely giving himself enough room to maneuver the rod deeper against his prostate. His breaths huffed out of his mouth, and the sound urged Bakura to flick his wrist faster as he stroked himself. The image of his and Marik's noses brushing together, hair falling into their faces as their mouths hovered just out of reach, pushed its way into Bakura's mind no matter how hard he tried to focus on his own pleasure instead. His cheeks burned; his lashes fluttered. Bakura's left hand slipped away from the rod. With it still pressed up to the hilt, Bakura pressed his thighs together, pushing up with his heels and using both hands to stroke himself. He called out with small, strained cries, and allowed his semen to arch out and onto his stomach as an orgasm shivered up and down his spine.

Bakura dropped his legs, slipped the toy out, and curled into a half ball, waiting for his face to cool and his breathing to slow. He _didn't_ want to kiss Marik. It was just something to think about to get off. It wasn't the first time he'd thought of something stupid like that when jerking off..

He grabbed his phone and texted Marik, telling Marik to let him know when the other male was finished. Bakura rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for a text back from Marik and all the while trying not to think about him.

* * *

Marik growled, a mix of frustration and lust. He had his head propped up with a pillow and his legs opened wide so he could stare at his body as he fucked himself, but when the third text message chimed on his phone from Bakura, Marik couldn't help but growl.

"I'll text you back later, you asshole, now let me finish," he said it to the phone as if it were Bakura laying on the bed beside him instead.

Marik hovered on the edge, so close to coming that the head and shaft of his cock were swollen and red-violet. The phone rang and Marik slammed his head into the pillow. "Goddammit, Bakura!"

In a rage, Marik let go of his cock and smashed the "accept" button on his cellphone, and then the "speaker" button. "What the hell do you want, Bakura?" Marik shouted at the phone, grabbing his cock again.

"I want to go to bed. It's been close to an hour. Why haven't you texted me back yet?"

"I was going to as soon as I finished, but your texts are distracting me!"

"Well, excuse me if - wait . . ." Bakura's tone shifted, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Y-you're not done yet?"

"No," Marik growled at the phone's direction, stroking feverishly.

"Oh . .. oh . . . oh, so . . . you're still testing it? Like, right now?"

"Well . . . yeah," Marik said, more than a little sheepish.

"Holy shit, okay. How does it feel? What are you doing? The grip's really nice at the base, right? Did you like the cockring?"

"Bakura," Marik moaned. He bit his tongue as soon as the name slipped from his mouth. He'd meant it to sound like a complaint, but that was hard to do with a dildo in his ass and his cock in his hand.

"Oh god," Bakura near-moaned himself from the other end of the receiver.

"Now's not really the time for an evaluation." Marik tried to get them back on topic.

"But Marik," Bakura purred, far too sultry for Marik's liking, "I think now is the perfect time for an evaluation. Live feedback, we should have done this from the start."

Marik snorted, trying to sound annoyed, but Bakura's voice was like cashmere and it was really, _really_ nice to listen to as Marik touched himself. "Fine. Fine. I'm just laying down. My back's propped up with some pillows. I took the cockring off after my first orgasm."

"Was it too tight?"

"No, it was good, but I was on my hands and knees to make the tines hit my balls, and . . ." Marik stopped for a moment as a shiver made him weak. "I just wanted to lay down for round two, you know?"

"Hmmmm . . . go on," Bakura said in a dreamy voice.

"I like the slender shaft because I can circle it." Marik closed his eyes, doing exactly what he was describe and rolling the handle around to circle the toy inside him. He groaned. It wasn't that he had forgotten about Bakura, it was more like he didn't mind that Bakura could hear him.

"Oh . . . I'll have to try that. I usually go for the thicker toys."

"I noticed with Zorc." Marik grinned, using his thumb to smear pre-cum around the head of his cock. "You'd like me then."

"Would I?"

"Yeah, I'm almost as thick as your monster toy."

"I don't believe you."

"Then go fuck yourself, because I don't care if you believe me or not."

"Mmmm . . . should I?" Bakura asked, his voice lower and more gravelly than before.

"Should you . . . what?" Marik was having trouble concentrating.

"Fuck myself. Right now, on the phone, at the same time as you."

"Oh . . ." Marik started breathing heavy. His heart fluttered in his chest. The muscles in his lower stomach clenched on their own and sent small jolts of electricity through Marik's core. "Yeah, I don't mind."

"Already grabbing myself."

"What toy are you using?"

"There's none nearby, I'm grabbing my cock and shoving my fingers- _ah_ \- in . . . _fuck."_

Marik's head sank deeper into the tower of pillows behind his head. "Dammit Bakura."

" _Mmmmmm_ . . ."

"You fucking asshole."

" _Oh baby_ , you're hot when you curse, Marik."

"That's not the - fuck it." Marik glided his clenched fist faster over his shaft, using his cock to fuck his fist even as he used the rod to fuck himself in the ass. "Are, are you close?"

"Yeah, should I slow down or speed up?"

"Speed up," Marik ordered. "I'll race you."

"You're on." Bakura purred again, and Marik could hear him groaning over the phone, which in turn made Marik groan.

" _Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is your . . . fault . . . you bothersome . . . nnnngh!"_ Marik couldn't finished the complaint because his entire body tensed in a powerful, maddening orgasm. "Oh Bakura!" Marik screamed.

His heart stopped when he accidentally used Bakura's name a second time. The only thing that calmed him down was the way Bakura was screaming into his end of the receiver. When the shouts died down, there was still the gasping sound of Bakura breathing on the other end.

"You're such a bother," Marik whispered, but he was smiling.

"You're the idiot that answered the phone," Bakura countered.

"Well, you wouldn't leave me alone."

"Set your phone to vibrate, stupid."

"Answering it was quicker." Marik wished Bakura was there so Marik could glare at him. He settled for glaring at the phone.

"I've never gone twice before," Bakura muttered. He sounded as if he were falling asleep.

"Hey, Bakura?" Marik asked.

"Yeah?"

"Don't go yet, okay?"

"Where would I go?"

"Don't hang up."

"Don't think I can stay awake . . ." Bakura sighed.

"That's okay," Marik whispered again. "Just fall asleep on the phone."

"Okay."

"Really?"

"I have unlimited minutes. I don't care."

"Thanks." Marik closed his eyes. "I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"I know I've been taking you home, but . . . want a ride to work?"

"Sure."

"Okay." Marik wasn't sure which one of them fell asleep first.


	3. Chapter 3

*****Okay, so in this chapter Bakura is dressed up like a cop and is dancing to** ** _Outside_** **by George Michael (youtube it)- I bet most of you aren't old enough to get why that reference is funny. Basically, George Michael got in trouble for trying to have sex in a park bathroom (so in public, essentially) with what turned out to be an undercover cop, and not only was this scandalous because he was a singer, but because it pretty much pulled him out of the closet and made him admit he was gay, but in true artistic defiance, he made the music video** ** _Outside_** **which is all about having sex outside and has a lot of police parody in it. Ah, yes, sweet, sweet, snarky, gay, artistic vengeance- that just seems like the sort of thing Bakura would approve of to me.*****

* * *

Marik grinned when Bakura answered the door in a slutty cop costume. "Funny, I'd imagine you being the robber and someone else being the cop."

"Marik?"

"Yeah. Did you forget I told you I was picking you up?"

"I didn't really forget." Bakura grabbed a pair of over-sized sunglasses and stepped out the door. "I just didn't think you'd remember."

Marik snorted, following Bakura down the hall. "Give me some credit. I was half asleep, not drunk."

Marik thought it was a shame that Bakura's hair was hidden beneath his police cap. Without Bakura's hair there as a distraction, Marik's eyes trailed down Bakura's body instead. "Your ass is hanging out of those shorts."

"That's the point."

"But it's so white that it's distracting."

Bakura snorted. "Sure, _that's_ why it's distracting."

They stepped into the elevator together, arms crossed and almost glaring at one another.

"Marik."

"What?"

"Do you watch South Park?"

"Yeah, maybe not as much as I used to, but I've seen most of it."

"Remember the old episode where Wendy and Cartman had to debate why the South Park flag should be changed?"

"Kinda?"

"Remember, they were working too closely together, and Wendy couldn't concentrate."

"Yeah, I guess I remember that." He mostly remembered the new flag, and how ridiculous it'd been.

"There's something I need to get out of my system," Bakura said.

Marik was still trying to remember the episode when Bakura pressed him against the elevator wall and kissed him. _Then_ he remembered the subplot of the show and chuckled into their kiss. A faint moan escaped Bakura, and something about the sound made Marik grab Bakura's wrists and slam him into the adjacent wall, turning the kiss into something fierce and savage. They bit at each other's lips, dipped their tongues into each other's mouths, and squirmed against each other's bodies.

Then the elevator stopped and they pulled apart, walking out of the complex and to Marik's motorcycle as if nothing had happened.

After that, the night was rather typical until Bakura's first song came up. He danced to _Outside_ by George Michael. Marik started to laugh from his spot at the bar at Bakura's dorky, but spot-on, sense of humor. Bakura did his usual act, swinging on the pole, tossing his hat into the crowd and letting his hair flare out.

Bakura twirled down until his feet were standing back on the stage. He waved his body against the pole, curving like a mythical, white snake. Marik's eyes darted between the drinks he poured, the customers he needed to smile at, and Bakura's act.

Marik happened to glance up to catch Bakura's eyes on him. Bakura teased his chest with one hand while he leaned back, holding the pole with the other hand. Still writhing against the pole, Bakura trailed his hand down to his white, bare stomach, and slipped it down the front of his shorts. The crowd started shouting, cat calls and cheers. Marik's mouth dropped. No one noticed that he'd stopped mixing drinks because everyone's eyes were on the stage.

"Fucking slut," a man at the bar smashed his cigarette out in a glass ashtray. "He begs for it on stage and gives everyone a cold shoulder if they try to say hi."

"Why don't you let him do his fucking job?" Marik snapped without thinking. "Which is to entertain you- not put up with your bullshit."

The man turned to glare at Marik. Then Marik recognized him as the drunk that had attacked Bakura in the alley. Marik's fists clenched, but he kept his temper under control.

"Mind your fucking business," the man said.

"You want to step outside and say that?" Marik lost the temporary control over his temper he'd gathered only seconds before. He really wanted to clock the guy.

Before Marik could register what happened, a fist swung across the bar and into Marik's left eye. He reeled back for a moment before recovering and lunging over the bar, shoving the bastard off of his stool and onto the filthy, drink-stained floor. Glasses shattered, and everything hazed into a red blur. The man grabbed at Marik's hair, but Marik didn't feel it. He was too pissed off to feel anything, not his bruising eye, not his pulled hair, and not his knuckles splitting open as they pounded into the asshole's face.

From the side of Marik's vision, he noticed a black boot kicking the guy in the ribs. Marik looked up and grinned at Bakura who'd jumped into the fight without a question or second thought.

The man rolled out of the way the second Marik stopped punching. He managed to push himself up to his feet and pop Bakura in the mouth, splitting his bottom lip. Seeing it pushed any remaining logic out of Marik's brain. He grabbed the bastard's throat, throttling him with no intention of stopping.

Multiple hands pulled Marik away. He couldn't tell how many, and their shouts sounded muted and far away. He was still reaching out and trying to get back to the bastard's throat even as he was shoved into a chair in the owner's office. The owner was a barrel-chested pig with salt and pepper in his hair and a gaudy gold ring on each finger. He slammed both hands down on his desk, and Marik stopped screaming threats that he hadn't realized he'd been shouting until the moment his mouth closed.

The external world was seeping back into Marik's view instead of the red curtain that had draped over his brain. Bakura sat in a chair next to Marik, a huge grin spreading across his face despite his bleeding lip.

The owner pointed at Marik. "You're a bartender!" He swung his cigar-like finger over to Bakura. "You're ass candy! Let the bouncers do their jobs, and you do your jobs."

"Fuck you!" Marik shouted.

"Shut the fuck up. I pay you to look pretty. Look at yourself. Fucked up both your faces. Get the fuck out of my club and don't come back until you're cleaned up."

Bakura stood up. "Wanted a vacation anyway."

"Goddammit!" Marik screamed, still pissed off. He marched back into the club proper, shoved everything from the tip jar into his pockets, stole a bottle of Black Label Scotch for good measure, and then stormed out of the club.

"Do I still get a ride home?" Bakura asked from behind him as Marik marched towards his bike.

To answer Marik passed the scotch to Bakura to hold while they drove back to Bakura's place. Inside, Bakura went into the kitchen and came back with two glasses of ice for the scotch and towels filled with ice for his lip and Marik's eye.

"So what happened, anyway?"

"Guy ran his mouth and pissed me off."

"Fair enough." Bakura nodded, no more questions asked.

They sipped their drinks. Marik grabbed the sketch pad they used for concept designs and slammed it between them. "It's time to get serious. I'm sick of that hovel. The owner's a sleeze. That goddamn security light is still out."

"I was thinking we could design one after a sort of naga creature. It could have a round head, but the upper shaft should be narrow, tapering out to a fat fucking base."

Marik nodded. He liked the idea because then he could use the narrow front half, while freaks like Bakura were still happy with a wider base. "And let's curve it so it hits the prostate better."

Bakura nodded. "Instead of full on ribbing, we can add mild texture. The underside can look like a snake's belly, the top half should have feathery scales."

"And let's put a slight wave on the head so when it rubs the prostate there's different textures." Marik ran a finger down Bakura's arm. "And let's make it pearly white."

Bakura paused a moment, staring at Marik's finger against his skin. Then he shook himself out of it and started drawing.

* * *

They spent the next few days fine-tuning the design, making a mold, and then waiting for it to set. In between working on Diabound- Bakura swore he saw a naga-like creature with wings in a dream and that was its name, so Marik humored him- they hung around Bakura's condo, went out to eat, went to the zoo, piddled around in anyway they could think to pass the time.

"Are we really going to the damn snakes' den again?"

"I like the snakes."

"Your obsession with reptiles is concerning, Bakura."

"It only takes a few minutes to look at them."

"I was referring to the toys you tend to make."

Bakura smirked, stepping into the darkness of the snake exhibit. Marik hated the dim light, but as always, Bakura seemed to melt into it, although the light from the tanks made his skin glow beautifully white.

"Come on." Bakura took Marik's hand and dragged him deeper into the shadows. "We'll go see the birds next."

Marik couldn't help but smile at that. Bakura knew by now that the Macaws were Marik's personal favorite.

Neither one of them thought of it as dating, not really, they were just wasting time together because it was more convenient than sitting home alone and being bored.

When they got back to Bakura's condo that afternoon, they claimed the couch, watching re-runs and bickering about fridge horror.

"Speaking of horrors." Marik snorted. "What made you design Zorc. Why that specific one."

"I just wanted it. Here, let me show you." He disappeared into his spare room and came back with an un-used Zorc in his hands, and he proceeded to describe the details to Marik, why he chose a certain shape here or embellishment there.

Marik glanced at Bakura's face while he spoke. His lip was completely healed, and Marik's bruise was faint enough to hide with a touch of primer and concealer, but neither really felt the need to go back to work so soon, so they decided to give themselves one more week to see how Diabound worked out before they resigned themselves back to their regular jobs.

Bakura frowned at the bottom of _Zorc the Destroyer_. "Honestly, I'm not sure why I added the suction cup attachment. I've never used it."

"Really? I do. I stick it to a chair and ride it."

"Yeah? I'll have to give that a try."

"Want to?" Marik asked, his voice husky and he grinned at Bakura.

They hadn't done anything since their kiss in the elevator. Marik figured it really was like the episode in South Park- built up sexual tension created by working closely together that was resolved after they kissed.

But sitting there, next to Bakura, while watching his slender, white fingers dance around the suggestive toy, was making Marik horny as fuck. He really wanted to impale himself on the toy and fuck himself senseless, and imagining Bakura doing the same made Marik's pants tight.

"I guess I will tonight," Bakura said, missing Marik's implication entirely.

Marik chuckled. "Why wait? No time like the present."

Bakura jerked his head up. "Now?"

"Why not? It's not that different than that one time on the phone."

Bakura's cheeks lit up. Marik couldn't tell if it was from a sense of bashfulness or arousal. He licked his lips. "I'll go get some chairs. Meet me in the bedroom."

In Bakura's bedroom, Marik slipped out of his jeans, but left his black tank top on. Bakura entered the room with two chairs, setting them with their backs facing so that he and Marik could sit face-to-face.

He pulled off his own clothes, noticing Marik's tank top. "Aren't you going to take that off?"

Marik toyed with the hem. "I don't really need it off for what we're doing."

Bakura shrugged. "Yeah, I just . . ."

There was something crestfallen in Bakura's expression. Marik sighed. "Look, it's not you, okay? I-I just don't like to be naked unless I'm alone."

"Your body looks great," Bakura said, as if perhaps that would change Marik's mind. "I know the clients criticise everyone's bodies at the club, but your's _really_ looks good."

"Not all of it." Marik whispered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his words. "My back's scarred from something . . . that happened when I was young."

"Would you like a lap dance?" Bakura asked out of the blue.

Marik looked up, blinking. "What?"

Bakura tossed his messy hair over his shoulder. "Nothing fancy, mind you, since this is a freebie, but, you know, if you wanted a quick lap dance to get things going, I wouldn't mind giving you one." Bakura smirked. "But in return, you have to prep me."

Marik's mouth dropped. "O-okay." He decided to go for it, sitting down on one of the two chairs, and locking his eyes on Bakura.

Bakura swung his hips right and then left. Then he did a figure eight. He went to his dresser, taking out his version of Zorc and a bottle of lube and setting them on the chair behind Marik. He also grabbed his cellphone, picking out a song. "Any requests?"

"No." Marik shook his head, suddenly forgetting every song he ever knew.

"I'll pick something then." Bakura smiled as music began to play.

It was a song without words. Marik had never heard it before, on the radio or at the club.

Bakura leaned forward, resting his hands on the chair back behind Marik. Bakura leaned in close, as if he were going to kiss Marik again, but then he drew back, straddling Marik's lap. He ground their cocks together, waiting until they were both hard and frotting together. Then he hiked his heels onto Marik's shoulders. He reached backward until he could touch the floor, and then he hiked his legs into the air and did a small backflip so that he landed on his feet.

Bakura grabbed his cock, long, but not too thick, the way Marik liked his toys. He held himself in one hand to keep his erection from bobbing as he swayed and circled his hips. Bakura kicked up his right foot up, landing his ankle on Marik's left shoulder. He leaned close, bottom leg straight, but his raised leg bending so he could get closer to Marik. He ran his fingers through Marik's hair, marble sifting through gold. Bakura's hand dropped down to Marik's chest, teasing the muscles beneath the fabric.

Then he grabbed Marik's shoulders and brought his other leg forward so he could drop back down into Marik's lap. This time he reached over and grabbed the lube from behind Marik. Three drops fell onto their hot cocks. He rubbed their heads and shafts together again, smoothing them over with a light sheen of lubricant.

Marik groaned, eyes half closed. Bakura grabbed Marik's right hand and poured lube into it. Marik took his cue and reached down, searching out Bakura's asshole with the tips of his fingers. Rubbing his entrance with lube, Marik pressed two fingers against Bakura's entrance.

Bakura gave Marik an impatient grunt, lifting his hips up so he could shove himself down on Marik's fingers. They both gasped, Bakura from the shock of penetration, Marik from the shock of tight warmth surrounding both his fingers. He was used to the feeling, had prepared himself uncountable times, but there was something different about feeling someone else's flesh around his hand, especially with Bakura's weight in Marik's lap and their cocks slipping together.

Bakura closed his eyes and tossed his head back, riding Marik's fingers as if they were Marik's cock. Marik's chest hurt from his heart rioting against his ribs. He found himself leaning forward and sucking on Bakura's hard, pink nipples. Bakura called out and the sound seemed to vibrate through Marik's lower belly.

He pushed Bakura up, standing and shoving Bakura in the chair so that their positions were reversed. "Do me now."

Bakura looked lost. Marik had to coat Bakura's fingers in lube and guide Bakura's hand between Marik's spiced-colored thighs. Bakura regained his senses then, slipping in one finger at a time until he had three inserted. Marik hummed in satisfaction at the feeling. He bobbed up and down in Bakura's lap, using one hand to wrap around Bakura's neck for balance and the other to stroke both their cocks together.

"Fuck," Marik whispered, realizing that he wasn't going to stop. " _Fuck_."

He squeezed their shafts in his hand, rubbing them together both harder and faster.

"M-marik?"

"Shhhh," Marik hissed against Bakura's lips.

Bakura parted his lips, expecting a kiss, but Marik pulled away, bucking in Bakura's lap. Bakura pushed his fingers in a little deeper. Marik felt several pangs of sharp, euphoric pleasure as Bakura flicked his fingers against Marik's prostate.

Marik twisted his face in ecstasy, climbing with each passing moment until every muscle tightened. "Cummmn' . . ." Marik managed half the word as the pleasure expanded to every, single nerve in his body.

Bakura pressed the fingers of his free hand against Marik's perineum, allowing Marik to finish out his orgasm without ejaculating. Cum dribbled from the tip of his cock, but they were relatively mess free.

Bakura wrapped his fingers around his own cock, but Marik pulled his wrist away. "No, you have to wait until I recover so we can use the dongs at the same time."

Bakura gave Marik a dark look. Marik only grinned in return. He leaned forward, hovering his lips over Bakura's. It worked, and Bakura forgot to complain, dropping his lids to half-mast and parting his lips.

It wasn't like the elevator, all tension and pent up energy. Marik was sated, having just climaxed, so he took his time teasing his lips against Bakura's. The arm slung behind Bakura's neck moved up to cradle his head instead. Bakura leaned back into Marik's hold, sighing and holding onto Marik's hipbones.

They kissed and kissed, making out for half an hour, using slow, savory kisses and gentle touches of their fingers. Then Marik realized he was ready to go again. He broke their current kiss and stood. "Get out of my chair, Bakura."

"You're so pushy and bossy," Bakura complained, but his voice was weak and breathless from the last thirty minutes of their mouths constantly locking together.

"Well you think you're fucking Adonis, but you're just a nerd that's read too much Lord of the Rings - oh, speaking of rings, you should put yours on."

"The gold one?"

"Yeah. I want to see how it looks against your skin."

Bakura's cheeks were already a healthy pink, but the color deepened to a coral color. "Whatever gets you off," he said it as if he didn't care, but Marik knew better.

Bakura went back to his drawer, pulling out the cockring that matched Marik's Rod. Once he had it secured around his dick and balls, he stood in front of his own chair, setting up the dildo, and then facing Marik.

"Ready?" Marik asked.

Bakura answered with a smirk. He straddled the chair, dropping down hard and fast on the dong, and bouncing on it. Marik's mouth dropped as he watch, impressed with how Bakura worked the giant, monster dong as if it were nothing, just another pole for Bakura to dance on. For a moment Marik imagined what it'd look like if Bakura was riding _him_ instead of a toy, and then he couldn't wait any longer to start. Marik eased on the toy, adding twice as much lube as Bakura had and starting slow.

Bakura grinned, leaning forward and he buoyed up and down. "You look real hot with that cock shoved in your asshole. Mmmm . . . I wish it were mine."

Marik bite his bottom lip and grinned. "Yeah? From all the hell you're giving that chair, I think you'd rather be riding my cock."

Bakura reached through the empty space that separated the chair backs from their seats. He squeezed Marik's cock. It slipped out of his lube-slick grip, and Bakura slammed his hand back down the shaft as if it were him fucking Marik's cock instead of just his fist. "You're right."

The confession made Marik's breath hitch. He couldn't think anymore. Everything felt too good, the dong up his ass, Bakura's hand around his cock. Marik leaned forward, resting his forehead against Bakura's. He reached out until he found Bakura's erection, throbbing from the cockring and twitching in Marik's hand.

"Take it off," Bakura pleaded.

For a moment, Marik panicked because he thought Bakura meant the tank top. Then Marik realized Bakura wanted the cockring off, so he slid it off of Bakura's balls first, then his cock, smoothing Bakura's skin with his hand afterward.

"Better?"

" _Ngh_."

Marik removed his hand from the back of Bakura's head, using it to instead hold his chin up and force him to look at Marik. "I asked if that was better?"

Bakura gave him a half nod, too close to answer. He let go of Marik so he could press against his own perineum, repeating his earlier trick as he came with little mess. As soon as he was done, Marik grabbed Bakura's hand and placed it back on his own needy cock.

Bakura looked dazed, but he started to stroke Marik as Marik held the back on the chair and bounced higher. He felt his orgasm drawing up from his belly and shooting out of his cock. Bakura continued to stroke him and semen shot out against the chair back and over Bakura's wrist.

Spent, Marik lifted himself up and stumbled backwards to the bed. Sweat soaked through his shirt and matted his hair to his face. Bakura lay beside him, teasing Marik's damp shirt up just enough to toy with Marik's six pack. "Want a dry t-shirt?"

Marik turned away and nodded.

Bakura got up, grabbed a black t-shirt, and handed it to Marik, turning away as Marik switched shirts.

"It's okay," Marik said.

Bakura lay back down.

"What time is it?" Marik asked.

"Past four a.m."

"I'm too tired to get up."

"Me too."

"Quick nap and then I'll drive home," Marik muttered, having no real intention of getting up any time soon.

"Sure. Whatever. I don't mind, though . . . if you stay."


	4. Chapter 4

*****I don't always make Marik bottom, but when I do, he's still on** **top :P *****

* * *

They had to go back to work the next night. They hadn't planned on it, but Big Daddy Frank, the sleazeball owner, called them both and implied if they they weren't there by ten p.m. then they didn't work there anymore.

"Asshole isn't making any money without us- that's why he's pissed," Bakura complained, dressing in his go-to black boots and a harness of black straps with small, silver studs.

"Yeah, probably. Too bad for him when we both quit. I might set the damn building on fire- molotov cocktail style."

"Do you need to go back home and change?"

Marik shook his head. "Nah, I have a spare outfit in the dressing room." He gestured for Bakura to hurry up. "Come on. I'll give you a ride."

Bakura through his hands up in the air. "I'm tired of trying to talk you out of rides at this point."

Marik chuckled. "Yeah, because I've always held that gun to your head."

"You're arguments are more of a headache than a bullet in the skull could ever be." Bakura winked at Marik and sautered towards the door.

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I want you to shut up for five minutes." Marik followed Bakura out the door, jangling his bike keys in his hand.

Bakura went straight to the stage, Frank screaming at him as soon as they walked in. Marik lagged behind in the dressing room in order to change and steal some concealer for the last green-gray shadows lingering around his healing eye.

That night was a crown and coke sort of night. The customers wanted shots or basics, no more million margaritas and Marik was more than happy with it. Pouring liquor straight into a glass made it easier to watch Bakura dance. He did Guns and Roses' _November Rain_ , Aerosmith's _Love In An Elevator_ , and Poison for his first set. During his break he went to the bar and Marik poured absinth and water through a sugar cube, sliding it over to him.

Bakura grinned at the drink, swallowing it without question. They exchanged glances, and although they didn't speak, it was nice to have him close, nonetheless. Bakura sometimes drank at the bar, and Marik had always liked it, but now it felt like a secret they shared in a crowded room.

When it was Bakura's turn to go back up, he switched up his songs, _Murder Inc_ by Dr. Dre and _Pony_ by Ginuwine, and finished with the Bloodhound Gang's _The Bad Touch_. By the time the night was over, Marik was eager to go back to Bakura's place and try out Diabound- maybe he'd make Bakura watch for a change. Marik enjoyed the thought, daydreamed of it as he changed in the locker room. He tossed all his extra clothes in a duffle bag he kept in his locker. If he was going to lurk at Bakura's house all the time, he needed to do some laundry.

Once everything was slung over his shoulder, Marik went out the back door as usual, and winced at the dark since the security light was out- as usual.

"'Bout time." Bakura chuckled from the shadows.

Marik jerked. "Asshole, don't startle me. You know I hate this fucking alley."

"I wasn't trying to startle you. You're just-"

The sound of rushing footsteps made them stop and spin around. Marik saw the faintest glint of steel arching down towards him. Bakura jumped in the way, shielding Marik. He tried to grabbed the attacker's wrists, but wasn't quick enough. Bakura called out in rage as the blade angled down his face. He dropped to his knees, blood slipping past his fingers as he held his face.

Marik tackled the silhouette onto the pavement below. He smashed his fists into the man's face, not ever getting a chance to see him, but based on the screams and the feel of his still mending nose, Marik suspected it was the same asshole he'd beaten up last time.

Marik was going to kill him. He'd stopped last time and this was what happened. There'd be no next time. Marik pounded the man's face into mush and he wasn't going to stop.

Until Bakura's hand rested on Marik's shoulder. He was still on his knees, one hand pressed to his face, the other resting on Marik.

Marik twisted to look at Bakura. "Get back!"

"Did he get my eye?" Bakura said, too calm.

Marik didn't like how calm Bakura was. He wondered how much blood he'd lost. Bakura's question somehow sifted through Marik's rage. He left his attacker laying in the alley, lowered Bakura's hand, and checked his face. He couldn't see well enough so he grabbed his phone, exhaling. "No."

"Oh . . . good." Bakura slumped a little.

"Hold on." Marik threw off his t-shirt and wadded the fabric up to use it as a compression for the gash tearing open Bakura's face.

"Your back, Marik don't-"

"Fuck that!" Marik shouted, not mad at Bakura- mad that he stopped punching the guy who'd hurt Bakura- but not mad at Bakura. "Hospital."

"Marik, no."

"Bakura. Hospital." He tugged Bakura to his feet and half dragged him towards the bike.

He had a feeling that Bakura would have put up more of a fight in any other circumstance, but as it were, what little color Bakura's skin had was drained from him along with the blood soaking into Marik's shirt. The dim orange street lights probably made Bakura look worse, but Marik didn't think by much.

A motorcycle wasn't a good vehicle to drive with an injured passenger, but the hospital was close and Bakura managed to hang on by hooking one arm around Marik's waist as the other pressed the shirt to his face. Marik didn't bother fighting over if he wore a helmet or not, he simply let Bakura to curl against Marik's shoulders to block some of the wind.

Marik tried to pick Bakura up and carry him, but Bakura smacked Marik's shoulder to stop him. Bakura did, however, lean on Marik's shoulder as he stumbled into the emergency room. Marik imagined it'd be like the tv shows. They'd put Bakura on a stretcher and whisk him away for immediate care, but what they got was a line at the reception desk, and paperwork, and an hour wait. No one seemed to mind that Bakura was bleeding, or holding an open wound with a t-shirt. They just wanted to know who his insurance provider was and Bakura gave them a cackle as an answer.

Marik ended up taking the clipboard and dragging Bakura to the lobby. He filled out what he could, "Hey Bakura, what's your family medical history?"

"I don't fucking know."

"I mean, do your parents have any-"

"I don't fucking know!" Bakura shouted, still pale and slightly ridiculous looking with a shirt against his face. "I'm a fucking orphan, and I don't want to fucking talk about it, I don't have medical history. I haven't been to the doctor since I was 19 or something. I want to go home, Marik."

Marik sighed, pulling the shirt away from Bakura's face. "I think you need stitches." Marik winced. "It's not so bad by the nose, but your lower cheek looks like the cut got deep.

Bakura moved his tongue, jabbing the side of his mouth, making blood gush. "Yeah . . . fuck."

Marik frowned. "I'm sorry-"

"We're not having this conversation, Marik."

"Fine." Marik scribbled N/A's and question marks on the rest of the forms and turned them in.

Then he stole a pile of napkins from the cafeteria and bought a bottle of water from a vending machine. He returned to Bakura leaning forward and dozing in his chair, shirt only pressing against his face because he was propping his elbow up with his leg.

"Bakura!"

"Ngggh . . ."

Marik shook his shoulder. "Wake up, you fucking asshole!"

"Marik, I'm tired."

"Yeah, because you're bleeding. Here." Marik started using the water and napkins to clean Bakura's face. He folded some to press against the gash, throwing the shirt in the trash. It seemed like a biohazard and unfit for a hospital, but no one told him to stop or offered to look at Bakura, so Marik didn't care at that point.

Bakura tolerated Marik's fussing, too tired to fight. Something about that frightened Marik more than anything- Bakura too tired for at least a snarky comeback.

"Do you want my jacket?" Bakura asked.

"What?" Marik focused on cleaning Bakura's wound and putting pressure on the lower end of the gash.

"You're still topless."

Marik winced. He hated the feel of open air on his skin in the crowded waiting room. Each person sat in their own chairs, looking sick or hurt, reading magazines or gazing at the silent tv with CNN reporting about a flood in some rural area Marik never heard of. He knew they weren't looking at him, still, he felt their eyes, staring at the strips on his back, thinking of how ugly-

"You're a tiger," Bakura muttered, his hand holding Marik's where they both pressed the napkins against his cheek.

"Are you hallucinating? I'm going to punch a nurse and see if that gets their attention enough to treat you."

"Idiot, they'd make us wait longer, then." He reached out with his free, right hand and traced one of Marik's scars that curved to the side of his ribs. "I meant the strips. They make you a tiger."

Marik looked away. "Zebras have stripes, and they get eaten."

Bakura chuckled. "You're no zebra. You don't run, you fight. The big cats, they're like the kings."

"That's lions."

"Fuck you it's tigers, too." Bakura giggled- probably from blood loss- toying with Marik's hair. "Or maybe you're a liger 'cause you have a mane."

Marik snorted, shaking his head. "Okay, I accept your blood-loss-induced compliment."

"I haven't lost _that much_ blood. Quit being a drama queen."

Marik opened his mouth to argue, but the nurse called Bakura's last name and they finally were shown to a room.

The nurse stopped in from of a door, turning to Marik. "I'm sorry sir, but-"

"He's my boyfriend and I'm not leaving him." Marik snapped, his voice vicious and angry.

She jerked back a little, looked surprised, but nodded and walked away. Ten minutes later a different nurse came in and took Bakura's temperature and blood pressure, and then left them alone in the room for almost twenty more minutes.

"So, you're my boyfriend?"

Marik shrugged. "I didn't think 'business partner' would let me come with you, and there's no way I was going to sit in the lobby full of sick people."

"You're taking awfully good care of me for being just a business partner." Bakura tried to wink with his good eye, but the effect was lost with his other eye half-hidden behind paper napkins.

Marik sighed, a little smile toying with his mouth. "You know, all I wanted to do was go home and try Diabound tonight and then crash. That fucking psycho ruined my evening."

"Oh," Bakura frowned. "You were going to go home and try it? I thought maybe . . ." he let the sentence die.

Marik had to think for a moment about what he'd said. Then his cheeks fired up. "I meant your home, not mine!" He said, too loud for his own liking. "I mean, I didn't mean to call your place home or anything, I've just been there a lot lately, and assumed, you know, that we'd do it together again, since we worked on Diabound together, and . . . I don't know, it was kinda fun last time . . ."

The doctor _finally_ arrived at that moment, making Marik jump in his seat. He felt a little busted, like a teenager who'd been caught necking, but the doctor was the personification of apathy as he started asking Bakura questions. Then there were stitches, and two police officers asking more questions. Apparently one of the waitresses at the club had called the cops and the jackass who'd stabbed Bakura was also in the hospital with them. Both Marik and Bakura refused to press charges. The police looked like they wanted to arrest Bakura. Marik suspected it was for no other reason than his outfit- and maybe his off putting attitude, but mostly the outfit, but in the end, their story matched the witness' report and Bakura hadn't done anything wrong, so the police left, looking as tired and apathetic as Bakura's doctor.

It was dawn by the time they came home. They both stripped off their clothes and fell into Bakura's bed. Marik grabbed Bakura and pulled him close. He didn't care if Bakura teased him about it or not. He was just glad the night was over.

"You can have another shirt," Bakura offered.

"I'm okay."

"I have a Jake t-shirt somewhere."

"Bakura, I'm okay."

". . . Are you sure?"

"Are you okay?" Marik asked.

"Those assholes would have kept me for more money if they had a reason to, so I must be fine."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh . . . well, I guess I'm retired now."

Marik blinked a moment, and then he realized what Bakura was saying. Being a dancer was already cruel work, the customers judging every centimeter of skin, every movement, every flaw. It's why Marik never tried it, he didn't want anyone to see his scars, but Bakura couldn't hide his scar, Bakura couldn't hide his, Bakura couldn't hide his- it would be the first thing people noticed about him for the rest of his life, and it was Marik's fault. Bakura only got stabbed because he was shielding Marik.

Marik squeezed Bakura harder, trying to pull Bakura closer still without hurting him. "Doesn't matter. We're going to be too busy with our toy business to work at that dump anyway."

Bakura gave a bitter snort, but his voice was soft. "Yeah, you're right."

* * *

Marik woke up, put his clothes in Bakura's washer, went home and grabbed a larger bag of things. He wasn't leaving Bakura alone. He knew Bakura could handle himself, but Marik felt compelled to stay.

Bakura slept most of the day and night, but the next morning he sat up and stretched. "Damn, I'd kill for some steak and eggs."

Marik wrinkled his nose at the thought of steak, but he sat up with Bakura "Give me a few minutes, and I can go to the store and make some."

Bakura looked at Marik, blinking. "Um … I probably won't try Diabound for a few days-"

"Are you crazy? Of course not! You should wait until your stitches heal."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, so … there's not really any need for you to stick around. You can go home, and I'll call you."

"Oh, am I bothering you?"

Bakura scratched around the slash across his face, careful to avoid the actual wound, but Marik could tell that it was irritating him. "No … I don't mind. I just, I'm sure you-"

Marik pressed two fingers against Bakura's lips to silence him. He leaned in, giving Bakura a soft, breath-stopping kiss. When he pulled away he had to force himself to keep eye-level with Bakura despite his nervous stomach. "Can I stay?"

"Pffft," Bakura turned away. "Want to borrow my nurse costume while you're at it?"

Marik smirked. "I'm sure I couldn't pull it off half as well as you do."

"Don't do this because you're feeling guilty," Bakura said.

"That's not _why_ ," Marik said. "But this is _my_ fault."

"Fuck that, Marik. That guy was crazy. Why do you think light's always broken out there? Crazy lurker was always stalking me."

"That knife was meant for _me_. You jumped in the way."

"So what?"

"So what? Look in the mirror? It- It'll scar, and-"

"Oh fucking well." Bakura snorted.

"Don't act like it doesn't bother you." Marik clenched his teeth.

"Don't stick around and mother me because you feel responsible!"

"I'm sticking around because I care, you asshole!" Marik bit his bottom lip at the slipped confession. He marched out of Bakura's bedroom and went to the kitchen, pacing in front of the fridge and remembering that he was supposed to make breakfast.

Bakura appeared, and Marik turned away. "Look, let me at least cook you breakfast. Then I can go if you want me to-"

Bakura grabbed Marik's shoulders and spun him around, pushing Marik against the counter and bringing their noses a breath apart. "If I wasn't afraid of tearing every stitch in my face right now I'd slam you down on the floor and work you over like a pole." He pressed a kiss against Marik's lips. It was determined, but restrained, and Marik had to hold Bakura's waist to keep from tugging at his hair.

Marik pulled back, looking down into Bakura's eyes. "If I wasn't afraid of tearing every stitch in your face right now I'd slam you on the table and show you there's a few things a toy can't do."

"On second thought, maybe we _could_ -"

"Bakura, no-"

"Just a little bit."

Marik kissed Bakura's forehead. "I'm going to go to the store about buy you a steak now."

It didn't take him very long to run to the store, or to cook the steak since Bakura insisted that the poor thing still bled as he ate it. Bakura spent the rest of the day napping and watching Netflix as Marik researched options for small business loans and how to self-market. Regardless of how the contest went, Marik was determined for their _hobby_ to become a legitimate business.

"What should we design next?" he asked as Bakura woke up that evening from dozing on the sofa beside Marik.

"Dunno … matching nipple clamps? If we do themes with the dongs, cockrings, and other accessories, people will want to buy more."

Marik chuckled. "I could model some of the some nipple clamps for advertising."

"Pffft, with your chest? We'll be rich by week's end."

Marik gave Bakura a lidded stare. "Will you promise to behave if I try something?"

"Hard to say without context, but my educated guess is no. I will not promise because I will not behave."

"Might be worth it if you do."

Bakura gave Marik a seductive stare. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, since we can't test how good your box spring is, and we can't try Diabound, I thought maybe I could give you a little show." Marik combed his fingers through his hair. "And if you're good, if you're _very good_ , and don't do anything to hurt your stitches while you watch, I might be inclined to add a bit of a grande finale to your show."

Bakura pushed himself to his feet and marched towards his room.

"You didn't promise to behave!" Marik called after him.

"Let's face it- what good is _that_ promise?" Bakura asked.

Marik couldn't argue, so he went to the kitchen, grabbed a chair, and carried it to Bakura's room. Marik took his _Zorc the Destroyer,_ gave the suction cup a long, slow lick, and smacked it down on the wooden seat. Then he stared at Bakura. His eyes didn't blink or shift, he kept them trained on Bakura's face, realizing how beautiful it'd look, even with a scar.

Marik's face flushed. He was about to do something terrifying and unlike him. With his eyes still locked onto Bakura's, Marik teased the hem of his shirt. He started to roll his abs, pulling the shirt upward and over head head as he moved. He tossed it onto the ground and brushed his fingers over his nipples as he continued to sway.

Bakura's gaze grew unfocused. Marik felt his cheeks burning, but at least he knew the light dusting of pink on his skin was nothing compared to the crimson tinting Bakura's pale skin. Marik's fingers slipped lower, down each rise and fall of muscles from his chest to his stomach. When he reached his waistline, he dipped his fingers beneath his pants. Then he used his thumb to pop the snap loose and his fingers to pull the zipper down. Marik played with his happy trail, the same sunny yellow as the regular hair. Marik slipped his pants and underwear to the ground, still swaying, still watching Bakura as Bakura watched him.

A weak current of nerves hummed in his lower stomach. Marik had _never_ shown his body to _anyone_ , and here he was, dancing for Bakura, touching himself and allowing Bakura to watch as his hands teased around his growing cock, but avoided the hardening shaft as he worked himself over.

He was sure he wasn't doing as good of a job as Bakura, but he continued to writhe and touch himself, fascinated by the way Bakura's eyes seemed to drink in the image. When Marik was too worked up to dance any further, he found Bakura's bottle of lube. Marik sat on Bakura's bed while he prepped himself, legs splayed wide so that Bakura could see everything, from Marik's three fingers stretching out his asshole to Marik's cock reaching up towards Marik's navel as it lay on his stomach.

Bakura lay on his side as Marik prepped, tracing his finger around the top of Marik's left foot and ankle. "I think you've ruined me."

"How so?" Marik asked, slipping his fingers out and shifting over to the chair. He gave the toy a indulgent coat of lube, and then eased down on it, still staring straight into Bakura's deep, rich eyes.

Bakura brushed loose hair away from his face, keeping the white strands away from his stitches. "After watching you, nothing else will ever turn me on again."

Marik snorted, convinced he was being flattered, but devouring the attention nonetheless. It was a little harder to ride the toy without the back of the chair to hold onto, but Marik stayed facing Bakura, still nervous about showing the stripes on his back.

Marik gripped the sides of the seat of his chair instead of the back, using it to help push himself up and down. With the toy's girth, it didn't take much movement to make Marik pant. His eyes fluttered shut as he lost himself to way the toy pushed into him. He dropped his body weight down, rocking back and forth in order to grind the toy's thickness against his prostate.

A groan made Marik open his eyes, Bakura was experimenting with his own cock, sliding his hand up the shaft, toying his thumb around the head.

"Not yet, Bakura," Marik said in a soft, breathy voice. "I-I want to do it for you when I'm done."

Bakura smirked, sliding his palm away from his shaft. "Maybe you playing nurse isn't so bad after all."

"Ngggh." Marik grit his teeth as a wave of pleasure shot through him. He was grabbing his own cock now, moving his hand up and down. He pulled away from the dong slow and dropped his weight hard, holding that rhythm until his nerves were aching for the thrill of release.

Marik dropped all his weight onto the chair, unable to hold himself up. His thighs flexed as he pumped at his cock in a frenzy.

"Work it, Marik," Bakura purred, from his spot on the bed.

Marik gave a soft cry as he came, twitching in his own hand when it was all over. As soon as he could breathe again, he eased to a standing position and stumbled to Bakura's bed. Bakura kept expectant eyes on Marik, but Marik wasn't done yet and, therefore, wasn't ready for Bakura to finish.

Then he remembered how badly he'd wanted to taste Bakura's entrance in his fantasies, so Marik crawled up the bed where Bakura sat and watched. He pressed his hand on Bakura's chest, shoving him into the mattress. Bakura already had his pants halfway down, but Marik tugged them fully of off Bakura's legs and dropped the to the floor. Propping a pillow beneath Bakura's ass, Marik spread his legs wide to reveal his ass and sweet, pink hole.

Marik hummed at the sight, leaning forward and giving Bakura's balls a few, preliminary licks. The sound Bakura made caused the nerves in Marik's stomach to hitch. Marik was soft from his orgasm, but that didn't stop the desire from making his entire body feel flushed. He kissed down Bakura's creamy thighs, and then towards his ass.

When Marik's tongue brushed against the hot skin of Bakura's asshole, Bakura screamed, shoving himself towards Marik on instinct. Marik gave another slow, deep lick, humming after he flicked up his tongue.

"Don't stop!"

Marik did stop, wanting to draw out the experience. He sighed hot breath against Bakura's skin, barely brushing his lips against Bakura's body.

"Marik … Marik please …" Bakura grit his teeth.

"Calm down, Bakura, don't hurt your stitches."

"I don't give a fuck about the stitches," Bakura growled.

Marik sighed through his nose, deciding the best way to calm Bakura down was to give him what he wanted. He pressed his lips against Bakura's hole, sucking and licking. Once Bakura's entrance was gleaming with spit, Marik shoved the tip of his tongue into Bakura's body. Bakura wailed with each stab of Marik's tongue.

" _Ngggh_ , _nnnnnm_ … Marik, touch me."

Marik had been going at it for quite some time, swirling his tongue, flicking his tongue, plunging his tongue in so deep and fast that he felt like his was fucking Bakura with his mouth. He was already growing stiff again, and Bakura's supple, needy voice was all it took to flush out Marik's growing erection.

Marik pulled away, wiping his mouth. "Sorry Bakura, I'm not done yet."

"Marik, don't you dare!" Bakura hissed. Marik knew he wanted to sound threatening, but there was a tremble in his voice.

"Watch me, Bakura," Marik whispered in a low, commanding voice and he went back to the chair and dumped more lube over the black dong. He lined himself up and plummeted down on the toy, groaning and gripping the back of the chair with both hands. It wasn't until he was already bouncing up and down, thighs taut, hair swaying around his shoulders, that Marik realized the he'd sat down on the chair in his usual way- exposing his back to Bakura. He'd been so aroused that he'd forgotten to be self conscious for two beautiful minutes.

Marik thought about turning around again, but the dong was thick and filling inside him, and the angle was better when he straddled the chair backwards. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Bakura. Bakura's cheeks were burning fever-dark. He stared at Marik with a mixture of rage and lust as he bit his bottom lip and dragged his nails into the sheets.

"I won't forget about you," Marik said with a smirk. "I said that once I was done I'd- oh fuck it-"

Marik pulled himself off of the toy and lunged for the bed again, bottle of lube in hand. He couldn't stand it, the wanting, infuriated, lust-drunk look on Bakura's face was driving Marik insane. Bakura's cock felt burning hot in Marik's hand as he glazed it over with cold lubricant.

Bakura panted hard, near hyperventilating.

Marik pointed a warning finger at him. "You lay there and relax or we're done. I don't want you hurting yourself."

Bakura made a noise of complaint, lips parted so he could take deeper breaths, but his wavering control disappeared the moment Marik sat on his cock.

"Don't you dare come before me," Marik growled down at Bakura, setting up a rhythm.

Compared to Zorc, Bakura was an easy ride. Marik started circling his hips front to back, leaning his head back and enjoying the feel of real flesh inside of him.

"Hurry, Marik, hur-hurry-"

"Don't rush me," Marik snapped, already stroking himself with a lube-slick hand.

"I- I- oh God, I can't-" Bakura stuttered, closing his eyes and turning his head to rest his uninjured cheek against the mattress.

Marik raised a little higher, clenching and stroking and holding his breath. He grunted permission for Bakura to come even as the first trembles of pleasure hummed through his core.

Bakura made a soft, whimpering sound that cut off in a gasp, and Marik felt warmth spill inside of him. The sensation helped titled him the rest of the way into orgasm and he moaned before easing back down to lay beside Bakura.


	5. Chapter 5

Marik was sitting on the sofa in an oversized t-shirt and boxers. He'd just finished an episode of Adventure Time and was considering another one when he noticed Bakura standing behind the couch and grinning down at him.

"What?" Marik asked.

"My face has healed up pretty well, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, I still feel bad that it'll scar, though," Marik said.

Bakura shook his head. "That's not what I meant. We've been taking it easy for weeks."

Marik blinked a second, and then grinned when he realized that Bakura meant in the bedroom. "You haven't been taking it _that_ easy."

Bakura gave Marik a sly look. "Yes, I have."

Marik chuckled. "Okay then, if you say so."

Bakura crossed his arms over his chest, growing broody. "It doesn't matter _now_. What I'm trying to tell you is that I think I'm patched up enough to give Diabound a try."

Marik eyes widened. He jolted up from his seat, glancing down at his house clothes. "I can't look like this. I look like a middle-aged housewife. I need to shower, and-"

"Just strip and meet me in the bedroom. You look amazing."

"How can you even say that when I'm in a t-shirt?"

"By opening up my mouth and letting the words come out."

Marik growled, but followed Bakura into his bedroom. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Bakura's room. Candles flickered in every corner. The lamps near the bed were on, but Bakura had draped scarves over them to soften and color the light lavender instead of yellow-white. Soft music traveled through the air.

Marik turned towards Bakura. "You got it really nice in here."

Bakura stared at the carpet. "This? I was just setting the mood for myself."

"No one puts this much effort into masturbation." Marik smirked.

"Hell, I'm worth it, though."

Marik stared at Bakura. Bakura fidgeted, shifted his weight from one foot to the next, and Marik realized that it was useless to try and get Bakura to confess that he'd fixed up the room for Marik's sake. Instead, he grabbed Bakura and threw him down onto the bed.

"What the hell?'" Bakura shouted once they landed.

"Who said I was going to let you fuck yourself?"

"Marik, the contest deadline is two weeks away. We need to try out Diabound and decide if we're submitting Diabound or Zorc."

"I'm aware of that, Bakura."

"Then get off me so we can test this toy out."

"Yeah, we can use it on ourselves…" Marik paused, pretending to think. "Or you can fuck me with my toy and then I can return the favor."

Bakura's dark eyes gleamed as he looked up at Marik, but then his expression sobered up. "Shouldn't we do it alone the first time?"

"Why? Couples use toys, too."

Bakura's entire face turned hibiscus-colored. "So what? We're a couple now?"

Marik's mouth dropped, only then realizing what he'd said. "I … um …" Marik straightened his shoulders. "Bakura, as your business partner, it's my job to make sure you're thinking about the bigger picture. We need to consider our market and simulate accordingly to insure the quality of our products."

"Oh?" Bakura chuckled. "Is that what we are then? A simulation of a couple?"

Marik grinned at him. "I think that will give us a good edge over our competition, don't you?"

"Oh yes, indeed." Bakura winked.

Bakura already had the toys and lube on the bed, Marik grabbed the lube and doused it onto Bakura's fingers. Marik sat Bakura up, crawling onto his lap and sucking on his bottom lip. When he felt the first finger slide into him, Marik gasped. When he felt the second finger slide into him, Marik bit down on Bakura's bottom lip, just enough for Bakura to feel it, but not enough to cut the skin. He started rocking in Bakura's lap, making it difficult for Bakura to stretch him, but Marik didn't care because it felt good.

After a while Bakura gave up on stretching Marik, and curled his fingers to tease Marik's prostate instead. Marik shouted against Bakura's lips, stealing quick, greedy kisses from Bakura's mouth between gasps and moans.

"Don't stop," Marik begged. "Grab my cock, Bakura."

"We're supposed to be-"

Marik didn't let Bakura finish the lecture. He pressed their mouths together in a deep kiss. As he pushed his tongue past Bakura's lips, he felt Bakura's long, nimble fingers grabbing hold of his cock and stroking firm and fast as his other hand continued to finger Marik as deeply as he could reach. Marik writhed in Bakura's lap, curling his arms around Bakura's shoulders. He kissed Bakura as long as he could, but each stroke, and each jab of Bakura's fingers brought Marik closer to orgasm, and after a few minutes, he had to hide his face in Bakura's shoulder- lost to everything except tension in his muscles and the swelling pressure cresting against his pelvis as he started to come.

Marik arched his back. "Bakuuura!"

Marik curled into Bakura's lap once his muscles relaxed, breathing in the scent of Bakura's hair.

"Dammit, Marik, now I have to wait."

Marik grinned. "I think I know how to pass the time." He grabbed Bakura's cock and started to shuffle his hand up and down.

"Dammit, jackass, do you even get what we're trying to do here?"

"With the candles and the scarfs over the lamps?" Marik whispered into Bakura's ear, still stroking. "Yeah, I think I get what we're doing more than you do, Bakura."

Bakura only grunted. It only took a few minutes before his cock was twitching in Marik's palm, preparing to release.

Marik slowed down.

"Dirty bastard," Bakura swore as his rushing orgasim hovered out of grap and backed away.

"Sorry, Bakura." Marik grinned, nothing apologetic about his expression. "I'd love to make you come, but we're suppose to be testing Diabound, remember?"

Bakura snarled, trying to regain his lost orgasm. Marik's fist stayed slow and tight around Bakura's cock. When he was confident that Bakura had calmed down, he started to pick up the pace yet again, and yet again brought Bakura to the edge without allowing him to finish.

"Marik!"

"Shhhh, Bakura, wait."

"I didn't do this to you," Bakura whined, too desperate to come to worry about how needy he sounded.

"I recover more quickly," Marik said, and as he said it he grabbed his copy of Diabound and let go of Bakura to smear the toy in lube. "In fact, I'm ready to go again right now."

"No, please, just … let me finish. Then I'll fuck you with the stupid toy. Marik, please."

"While extremely arousing for me, your begging won't do you any good, Bakura."

"Marik."

Marik started to kiss Bakura again, slow, easy kisses to calm him down. After he felt the tension in Bakura's chest relax, Marik fumbled for the lube and he anointed the toy in gel. Bakura took it from Marik's hands, and positioned it right below Marik's entrance. Marik rose up to his knees in order to give Bakura room. He felt the initial pressure of Diabound against his skin, and then the sudden yield of flesh opening up and swallowing the dildo into Marik's body.

"Holy shit . . . h-holy fuck, Bakura."

"Good?" Bakura purred. Somewhat recovered as he pulled the toy away and eased it back inside.

"Fuck!" Marik screamed as the tip smacked against his prostate. "The angle is perfect, what the fuck!"

Bakura grinned, looking rather pleased with himself. Marik opened his mouth to remind Bakura that he'd helped design the toy as well, but the only sound that came from Marik's lips was a deep, throaty moan. Bakura wrapped his arm around Marik's back. Marik forgot all about his old scars; instead, he leaned into Bakura and shut his eyes, moaning. The toy went in slick and easy, but the wider base made Marik feel stuffed like when he used Zorc. The textured tip massaged his prostate every time Bakura shoved the toy deep and pulled down.

Marik reached down and grabbed himself, squeezing and jerking on his thick, tanned cock. He bucked, wild and uncontrolled, hair dancing around his shoulders, and then he fell against Bakura, using Bakura for support as he rode out an orgasm that went on for almost an entire minute.

Marik gasped, struggling for words and breath. "That was … wow … fuck, wow."

Bakura gave Marik a quick peck on the lips. "Well? Don't just sit there. Tell me!"

Marik splayed his hands on Bakura's chest and pushed him into the mattress. "I'll show you."

Marik bent down and kissed Bakura's milk-white thighs.

"Don't prep me," Bakura sighed. "Just use a lot of lube."

Marik nodded, coating Diabound and inserting without further foreplay.

"Oooo-aaa-aaah!" Bakura arched his back high into the air. His hair scattered across the mattress as if he were mid-swing on the pole- only he wasn't. He was lying in bed, and bed that Marik was starting to think of as _their_ bed, and he was moaning for only Marik to hear, spreading his legs for only Marik to see. He wasn't entertaining Marik. They were both trying to satisfy the other, not a show but an experience.

"You like this?" Marik asked with a thick, playful voice.

Bakura's hands reached out, clutching at Marik's forearms and squeezing with his fingers even as his eyes screwed shut. He couldn't speak. Marik had teased him too long, and now Bakura could only shift up into Marik's thrusts, and moan, and turn his head from side to side as Marik buried the dong into Bakura's ass.

Bakura's cock twitched. Marik pressed his thumb below the swollen head and ran his touch down to the base. Bakura shuddered, he'd been moaning for so long that his voice had gone hoarse, and still he groaned with every exhale.

Marik used his free hand and reached for the lube, spilling just a touch into his palm. Then he grabbed Bakura. He only pulled up halfway, slow … slow … slow. Bakura's entire body was blushing, his breaths were quick, broken intakes of air. He tried to scream, but only managed to sputter as his toes curled and his fingers gripped the sheets.

Marik pulled all the way up, and on the third slide up, Bakura managed a strangled, half-choked cry and sprayed semen into the air like a fountain. Marik's mouth dropped at the sight, amazed at how much Bakura had came. He had to get a towel in order to mop Bakura's belly clean.

Bakura made an soft, appreciative moan, too lost to speak or move. He lay there with his limbs splayed across the sheets, stray hairs clinging to his temples, nipples a darker shade of pink and erect from arousal, chest heaving, and eyes dark and glassy.

Marik leaned over him, nipping at his bottom ear lobe. "Can I fuck you?"

Marik nudged the inside of Bakura's thigh with his cock, hard from watching Bakura and ready to go for a final round

Bakura gave Marik a coo of consent, twisting his head enough to steal a kiss. Marik indulged him, taking his time to knead their lips together before he backed away to get the lube and coat himself.

"You like it thick, right?"

" _Mmmmm_ …" Bakura agreed, nodding his head.

Marik slammed inside Bakura's ass, well prepped from Daibound. "How about this? Is it thick enough, Bakura?"

"G-god," Bakura gasped, arching a little and gripping the sheets once again.

Marik's eyelashes fluttered a little from the sensation of Bakura's heat. As he slide out, shivers attacked his spine and made his arms feel weak, and when he shoved back into Bakura's asshole, the heat and pressure was enough to make Marik groan. Marik drew as close to Bakura as he could. Bakura wrapped his legs around Marik's waist and grabbed at Marik's back. Marik pressed heated kisses against the shell of Bakura's ear and the side of his neck.

"Marik," Bakura exhaled.

Marik lost track of time. They rocked together with small, gentle hitches of their hips. It felt like minutes, but it must have been longer because Marik became aware of Bakura's restored erection rubbing against Marik's stomach even as Bakura started sinking his nails into Marik's shoulders. Marik added a fresh layer of lube and sped up, rolling his stomach to brush against Bakura's cock. Both of their bodies were slick with sweat, making it easy for Marik to glide up and down Bakura's stomach with each thrust. Bakura's neck strained as he drew close enough for another orgasim. Marik felt the muscles in his ass and thighs ache from tension, but he was too close himself to stop and rest. He jammed as deep as he could into the heat of Bakura's body. Each thrust brought sweating, shivering rapture to Marik's body.

When Bakura reached to grab himself, Marik slammed hard. After a few, slow slams of his hips, he started to speed up, faster- faster- faster until Bakura was arching and trembling. Watching Bakura shake, hearing him scream, drove Marik to continue to thrust until his heart was rioting and he himself was also coming.

Then Marik crashed, his energy gone. He felt slender, cool fingers combing the sweat out of Marik's hair.

"My vote's for Diabound."

"That wasn't a fair trial," Bakura argued, but he continued to brush through Marik's hair with feather-soft touches.

Marik grinned. "True, I didn't really care about the toy, I just want to see that cute blush you get everywhere when you're about to come." Marik's lavender eyes fluttered open. He turned to look at Bakura. "Maybe I should box you up and send you as a contest entry instead."

Bakura's look was unreadable.

Marik snorted. "You started it, you know. Music and candles? You damn romantic."

"Shut-up, I'm nothing of the sort." Bakura pulled his hand away.

"Lay next to me and cuddle, you damn romantic."

"Fuck you, you stupid, annoying pain in my ass." Bakura huffed, but he dropped against Marik's chest.

Marik smirked, eyes closing again as he wrapped his arms around Marik. "Funny, you didn't sound like you were in pain when I was in your ass."

"I guess we'll submit Diabound." Bakura changed the subject.

* * *

Marik ran to find Bakura, an envelope in his hand. He found Bakura in their "work room" prying his latest toy out of it's mold.

"What the fuck _is_ that monstrosity?" Marik laughed when he saw the sizable purple dong.

Bakura gave him a sheepish grin. "It's a one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eater, of course. What else would it be?"

"You're not fucking me with that thing."

"Okay, you can fuck me with it instead."

Marik was about to suggest they go into the bedroom, when he remembered the envelope in his hand. He shoved it at Bakura.

Bakura stared at it. "Is … that?"

"Yes! Hurry and open it, asshole, I'm freaking out."

"You open it."

"Not, this was your contest- you open it."

"You helped design the toy, so-"

"Dammit, Bakura." Marik stepped beside him and took his right hand in his own. "Together, on three. One. Two. Three."

They ripped opened the envelope and pulled out the sheet of paper inside.

"Dear Mr. Ishtar and- blah-blah-blah," Bakura skipped several lines. "We're excited to inform you that your toy design, _Diabound_ , was the sexiest, most fun design out of all the submissions and- holy shit, Marik, we won! They're going to add Diabound to their site!"

"Of course we won! We're amazing!" Marik laughed, reading the letter a second and third time to make sure it was all real.

"We can actually do this. We can actually make this our job. We can-"

Marik grabbed Bakura and pressed their mouths together. He was happy for them both, and he knew they should be working on more designs for their upcoming business, but at that moment Bakura looked too tempting to resist. Still kissing his mouth, Marik started to lead him out of the work room and towards the bedroom. He took the purple dong out of Bakura's hand and tossed it on the table as they left.

"You don't want to try that one on me?" Bakura asked between kisses.

"Not tonight."

"Oh? Did you have a specific toy in mind?"

They made their way down the hall and to their room. Marik threw off his shirt. These days, he no longer worried about what Bakura thought of Marik's body. He knew he was as beautiful to Bakura- even with his scars- as Bakura was to him- even with his scars.

"No toys, just you."

"Careful, we seem less and less like business partners every time we do this."

"Then let's also be lovers- it'll be good for marketing."

Bakura dropped his clothes to the floor, and they both fell to the bed, kissing, kissing, kissing. Marik wasn't sure when he'd dropped their acceptance letter, but it wasn't in his hands- they were too busy being laced up with Bakura's fingers.


End file.
